Plogviehze, Baby
by The Divine Comedian
Summary: Monstrous Regiment. Mal manages to do the one thing that would normally make Polly get out the stake and hammer. Shame she's stuck with the vampire on what would be a road movie, if it was a movie, and if there was an actual road.
1. Prologue

**Title:** Plogviehze, Baby (Prologue, 0/14)

**Disclaimer:** Pratchett's, really.

**Spoilers:** _Monstrous Regiment_. Also references _Thud, The Truth, The Fifth Elephant, Carpe Jugulum_, and _Witches Abroad_, but no story spoilers for those.

**Zer cast:** Polly, Mal. Also, Otto, sort of. Several thousand characters get mentioned by name or even talked about. OCs.

**Rating:** T for now, possibly M for later. Scratch that, definitely M for later, on account of there being a lot of swearing (and a lot of reason for swearing), and violence, and such.

**Note:** This is going to be _long._

_- _

**Plogviehze, Baby: Prologue**

_- _

Snow. Kettle. Snow into the kettle. Put kettle over fire. Tea leaves and mug and hot water. Reaching coherent thought in five, four -

"Morning, sarge," said a voice from the darkness across the camp fire. Polly didn't bother to look, she'd always recognise that voice. Polly had once daringly compared it to that of a fifty year old chain-smoking bar chanteuse with a knack for dramatic makeup, a broken heart and a drinking problem.

The mental images alone had been worth the look she'd got.

"Morning, corp," she said. Parts of her were still bloody furious, although she was helpless at determining how, exactly, she was supposed to voice that. Shifting as close to the flames as was possible without actually snuggling up to them, she heard the soft clicks of a foldaway coffee engine being, well, unfolded.

"The sun has risen, sarge," said the voice quizzically. "Got some water left?"

There was a short pause as Polly's tired and freezing mind tried to wrap itself around these sentences. She groaned.

"Help yourself," said Polly, nodding to the kettle. "Literally or figuratively?"

"... What?"

"The sun, Mal." Clearly someone else was also having trouble getting their brain into full operating mode. Polly was glad to notice.

"Let's make war, Polly," said Mal softly as she was pouring boiling water carefully into a nozzle. "The negotiations failed quite spectacularly. Don't think it's going to take much longer now."

The scent of coffee shivered in the air, fragile and strangely warm.

"At least this means we're going to be out of here soon," said Polly.

It was a relief, she thought. The middle of Borogravian winter, and they'd been camping out here for three weeks already. Someone must have thought this a very clever idea. Someone with a heated office and a warm bed to sleep in, with a _duvet_ and a _pillow,_ and a bathtub and -

"Are the lads awake?" asked Polly.

In the faint light of the very early morning, Mal shrugged. "Don't think anyone's been sleeping, really," she said. "Bit cold."

"Yes," said Polly. "About that -"

Over the rim of her coffee mug, Mal raised an eyebrow. It was annoying. Polly had practised the one eyebrow thing herself, in front of a mirror, and all she'd managed was some kind of lopsided frown. Mal made it look so easy.

A moment passed.

"What _is_ it, sarge?"

Polly thought. The fire was quite close to the tents, and while she couldn't hear anything, it didn't mean nobody was listening -

"Up for a walk, corporal?" she asked. She expected - and would have accepted - downright mutiny. They had a pretty good fire going on here, after all. The answers she wanted had better been worth leaving it.

"Sure," said Mal, getting up in one fluid movement that Polly wasn't going to even try to imitate. Not at this hour, anyway. Holding on to her mug of saloop, careful not to spill anything, she got to her feet as well. Hardly shaking, even, she was a bit proud of that.

She received a look that was thoroughly taxing, and glared back while motioning Mal over to the beaten path. Silently, they made their way through a forest of army tents, meeting and greeting the occasional freezing patrol on their way.

Off the campsite and into the woods. Silence. Mal was walking in front of her, a heavy black cloak over her Borogravian army uniform, and Polly entertained herself - oh, the entertainment - by nailing her eyes to Mal's back, her thoughts alternating between _I wanna go home_ and _Who the hell are you, and why don't I know?_ It must have been the earliness of the morning that brought these two together.

Where did Mal go when she went home? Polly imagined tall, dark castles with screeching doors, bats circling the towers, ever-present thunderstorms and curtains, imagined Mal prancing about in dramatic dresses. Certainly not. Maybe home was where the heart was, to Mal.

Yeah, right, thought Polly faintly. Pull the other one, it's got fucking bells on.

"Right, sarge," said Mal, when they'd gone far enough to be out of earshot, but not far enough to accidentally have committed desertion. "Do we have to talk?" She found herself a tree to lounge against and sipped her coffee in a particularly infuriating way.

"Mal, look -," began Polly and paused to find out how, exactly, she was going to phrase this while paying respect to the utter innocence of the situation. She settled for, "Where the hell were you tonight?"

The cause was totally lost when Mal cocked an eyebrow. Again.

"I do have my own tent, sarge," she said with a sly grin.

"That, while entirely faithful to the truth, is not, as it were, an answer to my question, corporal," said Sergeant Perks. "Besides, you weren't there. I looked," added Polly.

Laughter. "Missed me?"

"Er," said Polly. "I was cold, Mal. You know how humans get."

Another taxing look. "I do," said Mal. "Bit delicate, humans."

Delicate, thought Polly. Not a word I'd choose to describe myself. Far too accurate. Also, not going to dwell on the topic of mortality. Far too pressing.

"Where, Mal?" she asked.

"I was off having kinky vampire sex," said Mal. "In a tree. Where do you think I was?"

Inwardly, Polly groaned. She wasn't sure she could cope with the new and improved Maladicta. Maladict had been annoying enough, what with the superiority, but the single 'a' at the end of the name had added a whole new dimension to the annoying. It was... distracting. Er.

As if to prove the point, Polly's mind inadvertently dwelled on the technicalities of sex in a tree. Until she found the critical error.

"I thought you were afraid of heights," she said.

"Nah," said Mal. "I'm uncomfortable around heights. Not afraid as such."

"Same thing."

Mal shrugged. "Besides, trees don't count as heights," she said. "But if it is your intent to crush my will to live by reminding me that I am not, in fact, the owner of a private life, do go on."

Polly gave her a traditional two eyebrow frown.

A sip of coffee, a smirk. "So good to be in the army, isn't it, Pol?"

Quite a lot of unsaid sentences there, thought Polly. Wow. Glad to see one of us copes.

"That kind of talk," she said, "spreads alarm and despondency. Et cetera. Where the hell were you, Mal?"

Third time's the charm, eh? Mal looked down, and when the ground provided no help at all, she looked up again.

"Family matters," she said. "Broadly speaking."

Polly glared at her, and the glare was supposed to say 'Who the hell do you think is sergeant here?'. She wasn't sure the message came through, though. Also, as far as corporals went, this one probably needed to feel independent once in a while.

"Okay," said Polly. "Do I want to know?"

Mal shook her head, smiling slightly. "Thank you for understanding," she said. Polly didn't, but since all of the questions on her mind were of the sort Mal never, ever answered, she didn't bother.

"Don't do it again, corp," said Polly. "I mean this. Someone's going to have your -"

"Polly?"

No one should be allowed to say 'Polly' like this, thought Polly. Saying 'Polly' like this made the world a really damn silent place. Also -

"What is it, Mal?"

"I need you to know that -," began Mal, and considered her coffee mug for a moment. "When this all is over -", she tried again.

"Spill the beans, corp," said Polly. "I'm getting a bit chilly here."

Mal drained the mug in one go, and then grimaced when she found her only distraction device gone. "Right," she said. "What would you do without me, sarge?"

This was not, strictly speaking, a logical continuation of the conversation, thought Polly, and then she realised what it meant, and went cold. Colder, anyway.

"I think," she said softly, "I would have to inform the command." Always assuming she'd still be alive when this all was over, thought Polly. It was amazing, the way you never left room for the thought that you might not live to see the sunset.

"Right," said Mal.

It wasn't as if Polly hadn't expected something like this. Or, to be frank, she hadn't expected this, but found herself wondering why. Mal was so far from idealistic it wasn't even funny.

Well, so was Polly, but -

A question reared its ugly head.

"Is that why you, er - ?" began Polly, having caught herself too late.

"Is that why I er what, sarge?" said Mal.

There wasn't really a way out of this, thought Polly, trying to think up, well, synonyms. "Engage in illegal activities, corp," she said, finally. "You know. I've got to ask."

"With all due respect, sarge," said Mal, lighting up a cigarette, "that was to keep you warm."

"You know that's not what I meant," said Polly.

Without asking, Mal lit a second cigarette and passed it over. Without complaining, Polly accepted it. An unhealthy little habit, she knew that, but these things tended to lose their shock value when you fought battles for a living.

"Mal?" she volunteered, after the silence had stretched out for too long.

"I didn't have a dishonourable discharge in mind, or something," said Mal. "Certainly that's not what you were thinking, sarge?"

_What did you have in mind, then?_ thought Polly. She didn't ask, they weren't talking about it and that was all there was to it. Really. She took a long drag off her cigarette.

"These are different," she said, a tad surprised.

"From Ankh-Morpork," said Mal. "Far better than the Borogravian blend. I think they might actually contain tobacco."

"Ha," said Polly, "I think they might actually not contain sawdust."

Polly usually didn't care either way, as long as the damn things were burning. It was something warm to breathe, as opposed to the icy winter air, so what if they were a bit stinky. But where the hell did Mal get Ankh-Morporkian cigarettes in the middle of an army camp?

"We should get back," she said. "Pretend to wake the lads and try not to look as if we came back from - er."

It must have been the earliness of the hour, she thought. She wasn't usually in the habit of just starting sentences without thinking where they might lead.

"Oh no, you don't," said Mal. "Look like 'er', I mean. Trust me on that." In the dim morning light, there was a thin smile, a hint of teeth. Polly groaned.

"You're an Abomination, corp," she said. "Can we get moving?"

She noticed Mal was looking at her, the hand with the burning cigarette raised halfway to her lips. Almost touching Polly, but not quite.

"Damn," said Mal. "You really were quite cold, right?"

"Yes," said Polly. "Doesn't matter. Move it, corporal."

"Sergeant Perks," said Mal, clearly disobeying her orders. "Have you slept at all?"

"This is not the moment to go all Igorina on me," said Polly. "Besides, you're the one who's got ice on her coat. His coat. What are you this week, again?"

"Nocturnal, at any rate," said Mal. "I'm sorry, Polly. I keep forgetting that humans -"

Delicate, thought Polly. How the hell did Mal manage to forget? Taking advantage of human delicacy was her job... And Polly's, too. Forgetting that right now. It was easy, really.

"Forget it, then," said Polly. Moving, finally. Polly tentatively reached for Mal's arm, feeling the warmth radiating from her skin underneath the fabric. Not cool at all, she thought. It must be all the coffee.

Without looking at her, Mal took Polly's hand into her own, rubbing a bit of warmth into Polly's frozen fingers. She didn't let go until they were within range of vision from the camp, either. Polly accepted it the way she'd accepted Mal's, well, warmth all winter; mostly thankful, slightly uneasy. Sort of angry now, too.

"Spring's only a month away," murmured Mal, when they were proceeding among the waking army in a slightly more professional fashion. "Maybe I can -"

"Wait until spring or until I die?" asked Polly. "Whichever comes first?"

She noticed with amazement that her voice was hardly shaking. Yes, she wanted this, wanted to hurt Mal, who intended to leave her alone in this craziness and go her merry reformed way and never be bothered by dying humans again. A look into Mal's face confirmed that she'd succeeded, too.

"Damn," said Mal, and left it at that. A cigarette end was flipped onto the ground. The glow hissed in the snow and died.

The new day began, and it turned out to not be a great big fish at all.

**_- _**

_Until spring or until I die._

Pick one.

Falling and falling while the sounds of the battle became mere background to the beating of her own heart. Still beating, then. Good thing, thought Polly through a haze of pain.

The unconsciousness was a drawn-out sigh, and then it wasn't much of anything, really.

She woke up, breathing still. Someone's scream still lingered on the edge of her mind, the exact words escaping her mental grasp.

"Polly," a voice, whispering now.

That _was_ her name, all right. There were more words, but she couldn't concentrate, couldn't -

Icy thingies were touching her face. Fingers.

"Drink," the same voice. Molten snow trickled off fingers into her very dry mouth, one drop at a time so she wouldn't choke. She still did, and it hurt so bad. She found her shivers caught, carefully, in arms that weren't hers.

"Sorry, sorry," the voice trailed off. More trickling, badly aimed.

_Want_, thought Polly, _want my mum, here. Hurts so bad -_

_Dead. Mum's dead_. Polly'd been a girl then, she was grown-up now, doing grown-up things. Dying.

She checked, and found her eyelids closed, and forced them open.

"Polly," the voice, "'s better if you don't -"

Shapes and shades and lines arranging, black and white and grey. Night time. She found she could move her lips, if she just concentrated.

"Mal?"

Focusing, yes, yes, a face. Mal. Eyes, too. Polly curled up around the pain, her gaze shifting and shifting and fixating on a point next to Mal. Behind her.

She made her lips move again.

"Polly?" a whisper.

"Don't let him get -" _you_, thought Polly, _don't let him get you_. Right behind Mal, moonlight was reflected off a scythe. Something inside her knew the truth, and it moved the lips.

"Don't let him get me please Mal I beg you please -"

Mal turned her head. Turned back to Polly and shifted so Polly couldn't see him anymore.

She _heard_ the grains of sand fall. They stifled the sound of everything else, including _that voice -_

YOURS OR MINE, MALADICTA. YOU CHOOSE.

Mal closed her eyes, leaving Polly all alone.

"Maladict, actually," said Mal.

DETAILS.

"She's her own, reaper man," said Mal. "Polly's her own. You're oversimplifying."

THANK YOU, said Death. I DO TRY MY BEST.

There was a pause in which Polly was caught up in existential dread, although she wouldn't have expressed it like that. She felt Mal taking her hand, entwining their fingers. It didn't make much of a difference to anything, thought Polly faintly, but the thought was nice.

"How come you're playing games, reaper man?" said Mal.

WHY ELSE WOULD YOU BE HERE, IMMORTAL?

"Yes," said Mal. "I didn't expect you to understand."

"Mal -", a whisper. Breath running out. 'Don't let -', a thought. The impact of the last few grains of sand resonated loudly, somewhere within. Her hand was still held.

"Not yours, then," said Mal.

A grain fell, and another, and silence. Silence. Polly lifted her head to watch the moon. For a moment, it was obscured by a flapping shape, the silhouette of a bat that rose into the night sky.

Polly heard the sound of spitting next to her, and she turned and saw and it didn't add up. Mal eating snow, Mal spitting pink ice, shivering, curled up and eyes squeezed shut. Polly saw her own arm reaching out, tugging at Mal's sleeve. Mal turned her head away.

"Mal?" said Polly.

"Still," said Mal. "Don't move. Close your eyes."

Polly obeyed, she had to. She felt one part of herself being annoyed at the eagerness, but it was shut down quickly.

The sound of a sword being drawn, a rustle of cloth, a sharp indraw of breath.

"Drink," again. Water trickled into her thirsty mouth, only it wasn't water, really. She drank until she blacked out. It didn't take long.

Until spring it was, then.


	2. What?

**Note:** Still Pratchett's, still T, still Polly and Mal.

-

**Chapter 1: In which Mal's underwear is subject of discussion. **

-

"Okay," said Polly. "_Okay_. Let's try this _again_, shall we?"

Something about this new morning reminded her of yesterday's new morning: the morning light was faint and a fire was burning, and Mal was sipping coffee as if it'd be Abominated tomorrow, and disaster was impending.

"Well," said Mal, and ran a hand through her hair.

"Take your time. Any chance of one of those cigarettes?"

One of those looks, and then Mal got up, slowly, and rummaged through a pack, and certainly took longer for that than she should have. "There you go," she said, finally, and threw a disintegrating pack as well as the matches into Polly's general direction. Polly caught both with ease and then settled for a bit of threatening silence, her anger bubbling _this_ close underneath the surface.

"Polly," said Mal, folding up next to the fire again. "How much do you remember?"

"What am I supposed to remember?" asked Polly. "Just give me your version, and I'll compare it with mine, and we'll proceed accordingly."

"Polly, I've already tried to -"

"Yes," said Polly, "but, you know, what really escapes me at the moment is how nearly dying translates to waking up in a godforsaken Zlobenian cave to a lot of black velvet round my waist -"

"Klatchian satin, actually -"

"- a nervous bloody Temperance League vampire who's tending to the most pathetic fire in the history of the -"

"Yeah, well, it _is_ burning -"

"- who _keeps_ interrupting me on account of having a death wish, and finding myself, you know, sort of... undead, as opposed to dying?"

"Well, no," said Mal in an offended tone, "that's zombies. Common misconception. Vampires are more into the, well, immortal aspect of... not dying. Eternal life kind of thing."

"Yeah, you lot really are a positive bunch of thinkers, I noticed."

"Are you going to smoke that or not?"

"The explanation, Mal," said Polly, finally getting around to lighting up the cigarette she had been holding for a while. She caught Mal staring at her, and stared back.

Mal was the first to look down. "Right," she said. "The explanation. Here goes. Er. So can I skip the gory details and get right to where I bit you?"

There. Mal had said it. _You bit me, you lying indecisive little... _Corporals were not supposed to _do_ that.

But the arrow had had barbs on it. Barbs!

"And that isn't a gory detail?"

"Not quite," said Mal. "Takes talent, though."

"... I see," said Polly. "Why did you do it?"

Polly was almost hoping for an unsatisfactory answer, something like 'all that blood on the battlefield made me sort of jittery', because that would, at least, give her an excuse to punch someone. Not that she could think of any answer that wouldn't.

"We lost the battle," said Mal. "Had to leave to field rather in a hurry, you know, on account of the rupert being a wet hen. Most could walk on their own, a few hopeful cases got carried, you got dumped, on account of not being a hopeful case at all."

Er.

"Hang on a moment," said Polly, taking a deep drag of the cigarette. Now that the things couldn't actually kill her, they weren't half enjoyable, she realised. " We lost? We were winning, Mal."

Yeah, winning the stupid battle when, actually, Polly had hoped that this war would not even happen on battlefields. But winning nonetheless.

"I'm a bit hazy on the details," said Mal, "but it might have had something to do with their secret reinforcements ambushing our secret reinforcements and it all went downhill from there. Sorry, sarge. Gimme the cigarettes back? Please?"

Polly was holding on to the pack without realising. She was still trying to get the picture.

"So wait, this leaves me dumped on a battlefield and you happily walking away with the rest of the army? How..."

"Almost, but not quite," said Mal. "This leaves you dumped on the battlefield and myself happily deserting without anyone actually objecting all that much. A while later, you're still dumped on the battlefield and I'm happily shooting at crows. A fag, Polly? Please?"

"Yeah, sure," said Polly after a few thoughtful seconds, and threw Mal the pack. "So you're shooting at crows - ew, by the way - and I'm still dumped? Face-down in the dust, I imagine?"

"Well, snow, more like," said Mal and lit her cigarette on the dying fire.

"Snow. And that was when you - ?" Polly asked.

"There were a lot of crows before that."

"Mal!"

"Are you _sure_ you don't remember a thing?" asked Mal. "No waking up and seeing personified concepts walking around and being unreasonable and pressing decisions on people because they can't be arsed themselves?"

"Er," said Polly. "Big? Black? Scythe? Damn it, Mal, do I ever hate getting your hallucinations."

"That wasn't a hallucination," said Mal. "That was the reaper man. Likes to be known as Death, capital 'D', on account of being a self-important bastard."

"... Death," said Polly. "That's a story, Mal. For children."

"You saw him."

"I was delirious," said Polly. "I think I was. Did I talk?"

The look she got wasn't like anything she'd seen before.

"Yes," said Mal.

"Anything of importance? Last words sort of thing?"

"I thought you -," began Mal, and stopped to think. "I thought you asked me to -," another pause, a deep drag off the cigarette, "I realise I might have been wrong."

Cigarettes were the best. They gave you an excuse to just sit there dumbfounded without actually looking dumbfounded.

"Are you trying to tell me this is all some sort of misguided _philanthropy_?" Polly asked.

Mal smoked, sitting by the fire, all silence and closed eyes and motionlessness now, and maintained a rather too hard grip on her cigarette. A few days ago, Polly would have gone over and inquired about this, now she might have gone over and punched her, if. If.

Maybe she'd be okay as long as she refused. Maybe she'd be okay as long as she just _breathed_ -

Breathing -

Breathing brought with it the smell of Ankh-Morpork. Probably tobacco, she thought. Didn't matter all that much, Polly'd smoked dried maple leaves before and they weren't all that different.

She went back to intently watching Mal, as before, and she squinted and rubbed her eyes until she realised that there was something wrong with her sight.

The vampire had, once again, gone sort of fuzzy around the edges. The coffee mug was held by hands which Polly knew to be long and slender and as well-manicured as army life allowed, but when she tried concentrating on them, all she could make out was... something with fingers, and that maybe only because she knew there had to be fingers involved. A similar thing was happening with Mal's face, but far more frightening.

Someone inside Polly said 'Oh dear' in a very small voice.

"Mal, is there something wrong with your coffee?" she asked, while at the same time trying to carefully retreat without actually standing up.

"The coffee is fine," said Mal, after a long pause. "Look, I _said_ I'm sorry."

Someone else inside Polly took this moment to explode with rage, but Polly said, through clenched teeth, "Mal, you're not actually being very helpful."

The vampire shrugged with frustrating nonchalance.

"What the bleeding _hell_ is going on? And if you say you're sorry one more time I'm going to rip your throat out."

Whoops. Socks talking. And she wasn't even wearing any.

Mal winced. "Yes, I rather thought this would be the case."

Polly realised, bewildered, that she was shivering with what she suspected was suppressed anger, but not even socks explained this. And quizzical though Mal might be, she wasn't trying to provoke her, was she? More like the opposite...

What she did remember: pain and more pain and the reflection of moonlight off a scythe -

How real are stories?

Polly got to her feet, shakily. Mal looked up at her and carefully placed her coffee cup on the ground next to her.

"I think I'm going to kill you," said Polly.

Now, she hadn't normally done this. Attacking Mal had, somehow, never come up at all, because there had never been a convincing enough reason apart from the smug bastardness, and that didn't count. And what with the lack of motives, the fact that attacking Mal was also downright stupid, for reasons of superhuman speed and such, hadn't even entered her mind once. Up until now, anyway.

Still, Polly lasted about two seconds longer than expected before being back on her knees. Mal had gone from sitting on the ground to suddenly appearing behind Polly in the fraction of one moment and Polly hadn't had a chance in the _world_. Mal was holding her down in an iron-tight grip, one wiry forearm covering Polly's mouth.

"Listen, Polly," said Mal into her ear, still not properly enraged, which made Polly even angrier. "I'm really sorry, and also, I'm bad at apologising. For which I'm sorry."

The parts of Polly that weren't held down stubbornly tried to tremble, and as she attempted to concentrate on something, anything, her hunger... but this wasn't mere hunger, this was hunger and thirst and pain all rolled up into one single desperate need.

'Oh dear' didn't even begin to describe it.

Mal shifted somewhat, and held on, and this went on for a few seconds, long enough that Polly got the feeling of having missed some important prop. But she couldn't quite ask. 'Mmmpf' rather lacked some of the dignity she aspired in her life.

"For heaven's sake, woman, now bite already," said Mal.

No way out of this.

Mal hardly even winced. Polly drew blood at the first attempt, too, and drank, and some instinct she hadn't known she had whispered to her that this feeling was too good to stop and throw up now. Too good, even, to notice that the grip around her was getting weaker, or she herself was getting stronger, as if every cell of her body was saying 'yes' very smugly.

Mal wrestled her arm free in the end.

"Feel better now?" she asked, while standing up swiftly, staggering back and away from Polly. A quick glance at her face and Polly noticed the terror there. Polly blinked, and it was replaced by an expression of indifference.

Polly pondered the question. She did feel better, sort of. The hunger wasn't quite as prominent now. The need to murder Mal persisted, but at least, it seemed to come from more articulate parts of her brain this time.

"That," she said, wiping her mouth, "was disgusting."

Which was a very... socky thing to declare, considering she'd just drunk blood, and liked it. Disgusting though this undoubtedly was, 'frightening' seemed to describe the situation more accurately. Or 'absolutely bloody terrifying'. A job for Sergeant Jackrum if there ever was one.

And Polly was still kneeling, and she could feel her body losing tone just now, and she decided this was a very good moment to hide her head in her hands. This was not _on._ She could feel Mal looking at her, and wished she would just go away and die and leave her here to sort this mess out.

It took her a while, but when Polly was reasonably sure she could trust her voice again, she said, "I need a few answers."

"Whenever you're ready."

"Oh, just die already, will you?" Polly felt she was losing her temper again. Mal didn't say anything upon this. Polly risked a glance. _If she's looking amused, she's dead_, Polly thought. Mal was looking not amused at all, though.

Pity.

She breathed in, and out, and said, "What happened to your hand?"

Absent-mindedly, Mal was tugging at the threadbare rag that was knotted around her right hand. She seemed surprised.

Well, maybe this was a bit unusual a question, given the occasion -

"Had something of an accident with silver," said Mal. "It'll heal."

"Silver?" said Polly. "On a battlefield?"

She knew that Mal had reservations about randomly touching anything that even looked sort of silvery, because, as she'd said, silver _burned_. How strange.

Mal shrugged, and all things considered, Polly didn't feel sympathetic anyway.

"Do I get to turn into a bat?"

"No. Sorry," Mal said.

"Well, why _not_?"

"You need training for that. Oh, and a special licence."

"I... _what_?"

"I don't make up the rules, kid." With this, Mal had obviously gathered herself enough to reclaim the orphaned cup of coffee. Her skin was even whiter than before, Polly noticed and her shirt sleeve was covered in (delicious delicious oh _damn)_ blood, and her eyes were reddened, and Polly couldn't bring herself to care.

"I didn't think vampires were sociable enough to even think up something like that," she said.

"If they can make life miserable for others? But of course."

_This is one of the most emotionally trying moments of my life_, thought Polly, _if you can call this a life, because it's clearly... something else entirely, I'm sure, so why the hell am I engaging in small talk?_

She tried the calm breathing thing once more, and was reasonably successful after a minute or so.

"So," she said. "You're a member of the Temperance League, right?" Polly held on to the anger as if it might slip away. Ha, no chance of that, she thought.

"That's, uh, the general idea, yes," said Mal, staring deeply at the contents of her cup, obviously disappointed at the lack of stage props it provided.

"So, being a member of the Temperance League generally involves consuming icky evil cocoa and disgusting little berry muffins, chamber music evenings with a bad harmonium player and a roomful of tetchy vampires trying to convince each other that it's great not to drink human blood, as you've described to me, in detail and more than once, especially the bad harmonium player on whom you seem to have an unhealthy fixation. Right?"

"There's also the ghastly pep-up songs," said Mal. "I'd take harmonium players over those any day."

Fed up with kneeling, Polly tried to shift into a more comfortable position. After she'd stretched out her legs and leaned against one rocky wall, it took her almost a minute to notice a certain unobtrusive fact: she had, just now, managed to find a comfortable spot in a freezing rocky goddamn cave.

This... condition certainly went _deep,_ did it?

"So, Mal. Whatever bloody happened to the whole not drinking human blood part of the deal?" she asked, watching her intently. She almost enjoyed the nervousness she saw. Ha, she thought, if enjoyment were made out of contempt, maybe.

"I didn't drink, Polly," said Mal.

"Why?" asked Polly. "Am I not good enough? You could do with a meal."

"Because," said Mal. "I value my sanity rather a lot."

"Yes," said Polly, "yours and everyone else's, I'm sure. What are you going to do about all this?"

Mal looked up and not actually at her, but close. "I'm going to bring you to a safe place," she said. "Nice dark cellars, polite company, tasteful interior, and a bunch of... they call themselves professionals, I hear. Really awful food, though."

Polly tried to make sense of this. It sounded very much like some kind of mental institution. She tried to look at it from a vampire perspective and got to...

"You mean... like, a castle? With bats and coffins and a distressing Igor? Mysterious, handsome, and somewhat girly men wearing black taffeta and silk ruffles who don't drink... much of anything, really?"

Someone inside Polly was clearly not in line with the soul-crushing despair she felt. It was almost embarrassing.

"Temperance League, Polly," said Mal. "In Ankh-Morpork, Polly. You'll like it there, Polly. They're really, really nice folks, Polly."

"So who's sergeant here, then?"

"You are," said Mal. "It's up to you, really."

Polly thought about this. She saw the point, she really did, but she still felt distinctly patronised. Also, still angry. She opened her mouth to shout, but what came out was, "But isn't this an Uberwald movement? Uberwald's much closer."

"We're not going to Uberwald."

With that, Mal downed the rest of the coffee, got up in one of those blurred movements she was somewhat prone to in times of stress, one of those which very much _didn't_ say 'reformed vampire, nothing to see here', and pulled the blood-stained shirt over her head. Polly barely managed to turn away and face the wall. Living together for two years rather promoted reflexes like this.

(Yes, but she'd never been quite that fast. Oh damn oh damn oh damn.)

"I'm touched by your discretion, Polly," said Mal, "but I'm actually wearing something underneath."

That was it. There were quite a few rumours about vampires, but this one was proven true: vampires could turn any given conversation onto the subject of lingerie.

Vixen!

Polly had to admit, though, that she'd have accepted anything that would take her mind off things. Grasping for straws, here; Mal in underwear was not as bad as it could be. As long as she just breathed, she might not attack anyone.

Slowly, Polly turned around. Anyone would, she told herself. Anyway, it was quite surprising.

"You, of all people, are wearing practical long underwear?"

"Well," said Mal, once again rummaging through her pack, "it has got ruffles. Ruffles are practic'lly the epitome of being impractical."

She came up with a neatly folded white shirt, which, on account of having originally been part of an uniform, had hardly any ruffles at all. Mal then proceeded to disappear outside.

Polly wasn't done with her, though. She followed.

Lighting another cigarette, she said: "Mal?"

"Yes, kid?"

"You were bleeding, weren't you?"

Casting one meaningful look on her arm, then on Polly, Mal said, "You tell me."

"But I thought vampires -"

"Vampires," said Mal, "are defined by what they know. Or choose, if you're lucky." She worked some buttons, and added, "I could make my blood flow stop, but what's the damn point? It'd just give me an unhealthy complexion."

"Mal, I don't want to be rude, but you do have a rather unhealthy -"

"Look who's talking. Have you looked into a mirror today?"

There was an Offended Silence in which Polly tried not to scream.

"Sorry," said Mal. "It's a bit like the sunlight thing," she added. "We are perfectly able to learn."

She rolled up one sleeve to inspect her arm, making a grimace as she did so.

So they'd slipped into almost familiar conversation patterns, with Mal being pretentious and herself trying to make sense of things. This was good, wasn't it?

Well, it wasn't, but -

Mal sat down on a rock and began to wash the dried blood off her arm, using what Polly hoped was the last fresh snow of the winter. Polly watched, and found it strangely soothing that the snow was actually, truly melting on Mal's skin.

"We are not dead, Polly," said Mal, who might or might not have read her mind.

"Great," said Polly, and Mal looked up, a quizzical expression on her face.

"Great?"

Polly couldn't help but notice that the bite marks - a full set of teeth oh _gods -_ had healed slower than they would usually have done, that was to say, they were still visible. Besides -

"No," said Polly. "Nothing's great, Mal." She wasn't going to let go of the anger, at least not until she'd had the chance to examine it, to decide whether it was good old Polly anger or psychotic vampire anger. She needed to know before she killed anyone.

Not expecting an answer, she went over to where the ground went from sort-of-horizontal straight to vertical. In some ways, Zlobenia wasn't entirely unlike Borogravia.

One step forward -

"Try to get some sleep," said Mal, who had, quite suddenly, appeared behind her, pulling the clean shirt over her head. "We're leaving at dusk."

Polly was hardly tired, but she did go back into the cave if only because, in situations like this, having someone who seems to have an idea of what to do is slightly better then the alternative, and also, because there was an inviting lack of Mal in the cave. Still -

"Mal? Mal! Where are you going?"

"Taking a walk," said Mal, sticking her head back in. "I'm not tired, and the way I see it, we are short of food." She noticed Polly's shocked look. "Not that kind of food, Polly. I'll find you something socially acceptable, don't worry."

And with that, she was off.

Polly sat down on her blankets,. She'd decided to at least give sleep a chance, because she'd always, always put effort into things, but restlessness brought her to her feet again after a few minutes.

The cave was not really all that big, a few steps into every direction. Breathe, thought Polly. One breath a step, until that didn't work anymore.

It was the silence, it got to her. She tried to scream, only her throat was too constricted for that. Faster.

Silence, silence still, and then the coffee mug hit the wall.

Fine shards sprayed Polly, and things felt clearer for all of a moment, and she took that moment to leave. Outside, temperatures were well over melting-point at this time of the day, she was thankful for that at least. The winter had gone on for too long.

The light was just a tiny bit too bright, and Polly waited for her eyes to adapt to the sunlight, and when that didn't quite happen, she cursed. A lot.

-

Polly found landscape, and more landscape, and plenty of caves. More importantly, Polly found Mal some hundred yards away, hanging upside down in that very still way Polly had seen before and that she'd come to associate with the exhausted sleep that you slept at those occasions where you were lucky enough to sleep at all. Mal had wrapped herself into her ancient black cloak, the same one she'd worn when they'd taken the shilling a million years ago.

Polly watched her for a while. Their faces were almost on the same level, and Polly was careful not to breathe. She was close enough to feel Mal's warm breath on her face, at any rate, and she raised one hand, almost touching her, but not quite. Raised it a little bit higher.

It was the silence, it got to her.

Mal had shown her where her heart was, once, as a kind of safety measure, in case she would ever get the urge to bite people again. Polly had gone to great lengths to not actually listen as such, but she was sure she could improvise. It wasn't completely out of reach, now.

She could do this, easily. Grab a stick, do it, just like that, and Mal wouldn't even have time to -

It broke her heart, she was so tempted.

Her hand was still hovering, but she realised she didn't have a stick. And that was it, or would have been, if Mal hadn't opened her eyes just now and stared straight into hers.

Polly's hand clenched into a fist and she drew it back to gather impact and then brought it forward faster than even Mal should have been able to follow. Her fist stopped half an inch away from of Mal's face, and Polly very much noticed the way Mal's eyes screwed shut in anticipation of the blow and she very much noticed the way Mal hadn't even attempted to block her.

She didn't react now, either, all closed eyes and pretended sleep again, and Polly left the cave.


	3. The Absence of Daisies

**Note:** still Pratchett's, still T. Also, I hereby declare that I do not condone cruelty against animals in any way, shape or form. I am, in fact, a vegetarian.

Please believe me.

**Edit:** chapter made all nice and shiny after substantial criticism by Amazon Syren and Hyel.

-

**Plogviehze, Baby: Chapter 2. In which small furry animals DIE.**

-

Polly killed a few hours gathering firewood while exploring the landscape, desperately not thinking about anything at all. So she was handling a bunch of stakes. So what.

She found absolutely no human settlements, anywhere. With the same fierce determination, Polly did not think about the significance of that, and spent part of the day nursing the fire back to health. With care and positive reinforcement, it soon burned a lot higher than when Mal had tried the same this morning, something that lightened up her mood.

She was watching herself a lot, and when the shivers returned, she knew what they were and thought of something else. For half an hour, it even worked. She tried Mal's cigarettes, which improved things a bit, and before she got really uncomfortable - more uncomfortable, at any rate - , Mal turned up with a pair of fluffy white bunnies.

No, really. Polly stared.

"Dinner," announced Mal. "Please excuse the fluffiness, it must be their winter fur."

"Mal," said Polly, and swallowed, "these are adorable."

"Aren't they?" said Mal grinning. "Medium, well-done, charcoal?" She cocked an eyebrow. "Rare?"

The bunnies moved. Polly shivered. This was not the time for Mal to channel Tonker, bless her little cotton socks. Or lack thereof.

"Mal, they are still alive!"

"That's kind of the point, yes," said Mal unsympathetically.

"This is what you call socially acceptable? Couldn't you have brought rats? Voles? Shrews? Musquashs?"

"A lot of Black Ribboners enjoy a rare steak once in a while," said Mal. "This is just taking it a step further." She threw one of the bunnies into Polly's lap, where it made a desperate but fruitless attempt to escape. Polly was getting really good at the superhuman speed thing. Whoo-bloody-hoo. She picked it up by the neck and inspected it.

Ngk.

Impossible, she thought. Can't do this. Not hungry. Not hungry at all.

Plus, the fur was thick and she didn't want hair in her mouth and this was disgusting and small furry animals didn't deserve this, said her inner seven-year-old.

Her inner barmaid added, yes, they deserved at least some kind of sauce, possibly with blueberries and thyme.

"Mal, is there any way one can make this less... disgusting? At all?"

Polly could see on Mal's face that the vampire had never, ever given thought to this particular aspect.

"Well," she suggested, finally, "I suppose you could try wrapping it in a lacy nightdress and calling it Lucretia."

Polly gave the bunny another, more calculating stare and surprised herself by saying, "I was thinking more along lines of a marinade..."

"That's the spirit," said Mal. "Unfortunately, I am no Shufti and I have no onions, so I'm afraid bunny au naturel will have to do."

In one treacherous corner of her mind, Polly understood all of this and she was nothing if not a practical person, but still -

"I'll need your knife," she said. "And a mug, if we've got one left. Because this is disgusting, Mal."

"Anything else?" said Mal, wandering over to her pack. "A napkin, maybe? Candlelight?"

"How 'bout some pleasant company?" said Polly. She took both items from her, and looked up into a puzzled face. "You didn't expect me to bite it, did you?"

"Actually," said Mal, and paused, "actually, I expected you to throw it in my face."

"Ah," said Polly.

"Give me the knife back when you're done."

On the whole, it wasn't that different from killing rats for dinner. A struggle, a slash, a steady dribble, a desperate need to concentrate on something else for a moment - handing Mal the knife was good for that. She closed her eyes, concentrated on being a soldier in the snow.

Could be worse, she thought. Could be legs.

On the opposite wall, Mal sat down to prepare the other bunny for a bit of more conventional cuisine, all the while watching Polly from the corner of one eye.

Polly tried a tiny sip, like someone dipping a toe into icy-cold water.

The best that could be said about it was that it calmed the shivering. Everything else defied description, and therefore Polly settled for "ew" again. Better get it over with.

Ew ew ew what the bleeding _hell_ had happened to her life -

Moments passed in which Polly was trying not to move.

"It's not going to stay like this," said Mal, after a while. "You're just in transition. The really bad cravings are more of a once-a-month thing. On average."

Polly stared. And thought. And said: "I can see a whole array of really bad jokes forming in my head."

Mal went on humiliating the bunny, but this time, something squirted.

"They've all been made. Repeatedly. Trust me on that," she said and put a skewer through the non-cocktail-bunny, and wound some string around it. "And now for something delicious and wholesome -" she added, and held it over the flames, looking at it with the resigned hopefulness of the really bad cook.

They didn't say anything for a while - Polly, because she was desperately trying to keep the bunnydrink down, and Mal, because she thankfully wasn' the sort to talk to herself. Polly was watching the flames, and Mal, both of which were looking reassuringly normal, look, no colours, no blur. It was almost like camping.

Dinner - real dinner, not the godawful mess from before - was stale horsebread and bunny so rare that it would have been disgusting, had Polly not just re-evaluated her concept thereof.

Besides, she wasn't going to say anything about her suspicion that maybe Mal wasn't quite able to suppress her little bloodsucking problem anymore. Polly needed a shining example, after all, and in the absence of that, she took what she got.

No comment about the broken mug.

-

The sun was setting when they started to clean the cave; it had long gone dark when they finished, Mal being rather insistent about not leaving anything behind. Especially no bloodless bunny bodies, "...and sorry 'bout the dreadful alliteration, Pol."

Once, when Mal had been outside to wash out the remaining cups (one regimental mug, one very tiny espresso cup), and clean the coffee engine, Polly managed to stir up a bat in the back of the cave, but since it disappeared quite soon, banging against the walls twice on the way outside, she didn't think anything of it.

Mal seemed to know where they were headed, and this was a good thing, because Polly didn't. They walked in silence, their pace light and fast, and everything was different from normal walking, and Polly thought a lot.

To be fair, most of her thoughts started with "you bastard" and ended on a similar note, but along the way there were some valuable insights that she didn't hesitate to share.

"So, Mal," she said, after maybe an hour of the unnatural walking.

Mal was in front of her, carrying the one pack they shared between them. She turned around. "Yeah?"

"I've been thinking."

"That's great, Polly. What about?"

Polly _was_ in dire need of some cheering up, but she wasn't sure this qualified as such.  
_  
_Mal waited for her to catch up.

"Stakes, mostly," Polly admitted.

"Ah," said Mal, uncertainly. "What an interesting choice of topic. Why?"

"Remember the little coffee disaster?"

The silence indicated that Mal was, indeed, remembering the little coffee disaster.

"So, you know, last time things went spectacularly wrong, Igorina had a stake ready. Why d'you think she did?"

"Igorina's a resourceful girl, you know," said Mal, clearly wanting to leave the topic alone. Well - and Polly groaned at the double entendre - sucks to be Mal. Polly wasn't going to leave the topic alone.

"Igorth are uthed to thervithe," she said.

"That's quite a good lisp you've got going on there," said Mal. "Now, please, change the topic, 'cause I know where this is leading. Please?"

"Igors are not big on killing. Right?"

"Yeah. So? I was a danger to society."

"One could go as far as to say that they would have certain reservations regarding killing anyone, including Strappi, the enemy, and societal hazards."

"Maybe she wanted to recycle my head, I don't know!" said Mal.

Polly's imagination went all graphic on her again; she desperately tried to switch it off, to no avail.

"Mal," she said. "I need some truth, here."

She received a very strange glance, and a lot of silence, and then -

"So I might have dropped a hint," the vampire said softly.

"You told her to please kill you if you turn out to be really dangerous to the squad, because she was the only one who wouldn't make a dreadful bloody mess out of it, is what you were really going to say, am I right?"

"She was the most efficient-looking of the bunch, and it was the best idea I came up with," said Mal. "Those acorns weren't really cutting it, to tell you the truth."

"I noticed. You're a really bad actor. Actress. Why did you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Drop the hint," said Polly with all the patience she could muster. "You went cold bat before, didn't you? Could have managed it again."

"It's not the managing that's the problem," said Mal, "'cause you don't manage in the 'manage' sense of the word. It's more a question of being locked up good and proper. Out in the open, once you've got the really bad cravings, I'm afraid it's kill or be killed, and the latter is more," she coughed, "humane for everyone concerned. So."

"Yeah," said Polly. "Yeah, it's really great you had a choice."

Mal didn't say a word for quite a long time, and that made Polly furious, but probably not as furious as anything Mal could have said. Ice was being annoyingly crunchy under her feet, and the wind tugged at her hair, and other than that, silence.

"Polly?" Mal finally volunteered.

"What?" Polly's voice didn't tremble. She was going for pure, undiluted anger here, and that she had become quite good at. _If she says she's sorry, she's a kebab, _she thought, _and then I'm going to BITE her head off._

"Do you want me to kill you?" asked Mal, looking rather more honest than Polly felt comfortable with.

"Would you _do_ that?" she asked.

Mal grimaced. "No, probably not. Wait, make that an 'absolutely', 'cause I'm reformed. I just wanted to know if you, you know, wanted me to, because the way I see it, it's the only way to get things back to how they were when I, you know, didn't give you a choice."

"Wow," said Polly, "that was _pretentious,_ Mal. So you think of yourself as the shining rescuer-type?"

"Always wanted to be a hero," said Mal. "Wait, no. Polly, it's hard to explain."

"You're not making things any clearer."

"It's 'cause things weren't very clear to begin with," said Mal. "And boy, do I ever need a fag." She looked through pockets. And looked. And looked some more.

"You haven't smoked them all, have you?" she asked, with considerably more exasperation in her voice than before.

Polly shrugged. "Missing the sucking, are we?" She knew she was getting insufferable. Had she been in Mal's place, she'd already been killed ten times over, but then again, she did have some slight anger management problem at the moment, and then she got confused with all the 'she's, and stopped.

Mal only sighed. "Yes, Polly. Yes, I am missing the sucking and I am very afraid we might run across some humble wood gatherer, 'cause I don't know what I'm going to do then, and that's why we're taking this godawful zigzag route through nowhere. Also, you've smoked my last cigarettes, although I'm inclined to admit you probably need them even more."

Okay. That, at least, was honest.

"So," Polly said, "I'm still a bit hazy on the details of why the hell you bit me in the first place. Could have saved yourself all this trouble."

"Yes," said Mal.

"So?"

"Right," said Mal, drawing breath. "The battlefield. I stayed behind so I could, you know, be with you when you died, hold your hand sort of thing, only it turned out not to be a very nurturing experience at all, what with me realising that -"

She paused, and tried again, "- Realising that I very much did _not_ want to be there when you died, and you being sort of unconscious and thus not getting much out of the holding hand sort of thing, and the bloody crows were trying to eat your eyes all the damn time. So I thought I'd carry you away, find a spot of land with more daisies and less, you know, gore, but then I found out you were in no position to be moved, and then I sorta screamed at you for a bit -"

"Hey," said Polly. "I think I remember that."

"- And then you sorta woke up, only not really, 'cause you aren't remembering a single damn thing of what you said then. Now please let go of the topic before I manage to traumatise myself."

Polly was silent for a while. Daisies? she thought. _Daisies? _Hard to stay angry when thinking about daisies. She tried, though.

"Mal?" she asked.

"Yes?"

"This had nothing to do with what we agreed on not talking about ever again, had it?"

A wan smile, and, "Not going to talk about it, am I?"

"Mal!"

"Answer's no, Polly. Would have done it if that hadn't happened."

"So you would have done it to everyone else lying face-down in the snow and dying from acute abdominal perforation?" asked Polly.

"Are you underestimating my private life, Polly?"

"You don't have one, Mal, dear," said Polly.

Mal sighed, and even stopped, and took the time to look at Polly. "No," she said. "Wouldn't have done it. Could have been just as wrong a decision, or just as right, I wouldn't know."

There was silence after that, and Polly kept thinking in full sentences, and some of them even began with "You bastard", but it wasn't quite the same.

-

They walked like this for two nights, not talking much, and Polly - grudgingly - learned things. She learned to treat food as food, although she never touched a bunny again. The cravings grew gradually milder, too, and farther apart, but the rats and birds left a taste in her mouth that suggested this couldn't _quite_ be the real thing, now, could it?

She would have to do something about that, soon, but for now she was still okay, or as okay as she could possibly be under the circumstances. Angry, angry still, but working with what she had.

Mal, on the other hand -

Polly was watching her. Mal didn't eat a lot and when she did, it was very rare meat, and, as far as Polly could tell, she didn't sleep at all. Every time the cold woke Polly up during the day, Mal would be gone from the tiny army tent they shared. Polly had no idea how to address this topic properly without screaming at Mal, and that didn't fit into her plan of getting the anger management thing done.

One the third evening, Polly came back from makeshift hygiene and found Mal sitting on a rock, espresso cup in hands, in a pose that looked as disgustingly confident as ever. One had to hand it to her, she was a natural at looking.

Come to think about it, coffee was the one thing Mal had been consuming in amounts that made Polly wonder if they'd ever even make it to the Sto plains before running out. Why, maybe it really did make up for food, maybe Mal's body did mobilise some kind of energy out of it, but whenever Polly contemplated vampire physiology, logic tended to come to a crashing halt anyway.

"Sit," said Mal, and Polly did, thanking a nameless rodent soul for her calm. Not exploding at simple imperatives could be a blessing.

"Shouldn't we get going?" she asked.

Mal simply gesticulated with the cup. Coffee time, thought Polly. It was holy. Even though it looked as though Mal got less and less out of it, but she wasn't going to think about that.

"We have to go lower," said Mal suddenly. "See the clouds over there?"

Polly did. She groaned. "Not more bloody snow," she said. Even at this moment, it seemed to get colder as a sharp wind came up, tousling Mal's very black hair as it did so. Mal, who didn't have to gene for scruffiness, patted it back.

"Snow storms," she said. "And I honestly thought we'd be past that." She seemed to regard the weather as a personal offence.

"Er," said Polly, "I'm not trying to be insufferable here, but I've got to question your motives."

As if to contemplate that, Mal downed the rest of her coffee, grounds and all. Polly was distinctly not noticing the way Mal's hands were shaking as she did that.

"We've got to, Polly," said Mal. "It's going to be a bastard of a storm, even farther down. We just have to be careful." So maybe Mal sounded a little frightened, or even a little hungry. Polly was no expert in interpreting the exact source of a tiny tremble in someone's voice, and people who claimed to be able to do that were overly dramatic.

"What happened to the whole immortality thing, then?" asked Polly, and thought: great idea. We could just sit it out, we're not going to freeze anyway.

Yeah, really great idea, Polly.

"I _hate_ cold," said Mal, as if that settled it.

And strangely, it did, because Polly hated cold as well. Cold and snow and storms and everything that was associated with it. She had, after all, spent the entire winter in tents, in the mountains, and considered herself lucky she merely lost a toe.

Which had _grown_ _back._ Polly had just noticed that the day before. Somehow, though, she couldn't bring herself to ask Mal the things she was really interested in, like, what's with the infamous body restoration thing, eh? Obviously, the bodily restoration thing worked, but -

It was most distressing. Would Mal grow a second head if Polly detached and hid the first one?

And no, she hadn't just thought that, at all. Anger management was, after all, the key to solving all of her problems.

Well.

-

They had barely begun descending from the pass when it started snowing. It didn't stop at all that night, and the wind got worse. Mal was walking in front of Polly, not employing the light stride anymore that Polly had grown used to in the last few days, but instead giving off the impression the wind had done something dreadful to her, judging by the intensity with which she fought it. Polly could barely keep pace with her, and she wasn't even the one carrying the pack.

Of course, Mal had years and years of experience with superpowers, Polly told herself. Still annoyed.

By midnight, they were knee-deep in snow, and a few hours later, Polly's boots were filled with snow, which turned to water, which slowly turned to ice. The snow slowed them down. The wind slowed them down. The snow and wind combined, however, made Polly feel they were walking backwards.

One interesting thing about immortality was, Polly mused, that life's little annoyances, like Mal, or like bloody snow between her bloody toes, did never cease to be annoying. And, in the case of the snow between her toes, didn't cease to be painful. All you got extra were socially unacceptable eating habits, and -

All right, maybe the odd superpower here and there.

Mal stopped, and Polly very nearly bumped into her. Turning around, Mal was trying to wipe snow off her cloak and trousers and face and hair, with hands that were pale and stiff from the cold, and without much success.

"What a cunning disguise, going as a snowman," Polly joked, half-heartedly, and didn't mean it. Iced over like that, Mal looked nothing short of eerie, all pale skin and white-frozen hair and dark eyes.

"You still okay?" asked Mal, her voice hoarse from all the wind.

Polly was, actually, soaked and freezing and miserable and angry and curiously desperate for a cup of tea and a fire in a real fireplace and maybe a warm bed. Homely things, she thought. Oh, and getting that sword off Mal when she was looking like that would be nice, too.

"I'm -" she said and only ever got that far, because Mal was, very suddenly, hugging her. It was quite clumsy for a vampire, Polly thought, and there was an inch or so of clumpy snow between them, and neither had much warmth to give away. Somewhere beneath all the anger, Polly realised it was a... nice gesture. Yes.

"I'm sorry," said Mal, softly, "we should have gone down much earlier. So sorry..." Her voice trailed off.

"Mal, you're shaking," said Polly, astonished. She was not entirely at home with the concept of holding an apologetic vampire in her arms, and she wasn't going to work on becoming at home with that, either, and thus commented on the first thing that came to mind.

"'Course I am," said Mal into her hair, "'m bloody cold. Bloody cold." The last words were very accentuated,

Of course, Polly had known Mal was shorter than her by an inch or two. But she hadn't _known._ Mal was one of those people who didn't look small, in any way, at least as long as they were awake, because they always seemed to take up more space than they should. This was probably directly correlated to their self-confidence, Polly thought. God-damn annoying self-confidence.

Bloody vampires.

"We've got to get going, Mal," she said. "Please. Don't go all seven-year-old on me, please, Mal. I'll take the pack for a while. Just move?"

Even now, snow started to pile up around their knees in an entirely unacceptable manner.

"'m tired," said Mal, and seemed to mean it. But she moved a little, and then she moved some more, and they managed to walk for almost another hour before they were were completely and utterly snowed in.


	4. Applied Existentialism

**Note:** 6000+ words and _only one scene break_. Fear :D

Still Pratchett's.

-

**Plogviehze, Baby: Chapter 3. In which there is shedding of clothes, ha. Um.**

-

"_This is not happening_," said Mal, eyes closed.

She seemed to have pulled herself together, but bloody good it did them now. Typical of her to regard undeniable facts as some kind of personal attack.

But typical, at least, was good. Polly agreed with typical. Typical was the hot water bottle of the mind.

"Seems like it is, in fact, happening," she said. "Any idea where we are?"

As far as Polly was concerned, they were in the middle of white hell. There was no path. There had never been a path, but the path that hadn't been there was gone.

"No," said Mal. Standing thigh-deep in snow, in front of a wall of snow, surrounded by more snow, and snow still falling down on her, she was rather convincing.

"I mean," she added, "I'm not merely classically lost. I'm all kinds of lost. This is a whole new _dimension_ of lost I'm talking about." She kicked the snow. It didn't kick back, but it might as well have snickered.

"Er -," Polly was lost as well, but in a slightly different sense.

"Polly, I can't _see,"_ said Mal. "This environment is the diametrical opposite of psychotropic. Not only doesn't it listen, it doesn't even talk."

"Yeah, well, it's snow," Polly pointed out. "And you're speaking in tautologies. I suggest we find us a cave and wait it out." She put down the pack. "And none of this talking to landscapes business."

Typical Mal behaviour, but _minus the oddities_, please, thought Polly.

Mal didn't argue the point, which wasn't quite typical, but nice, and ten minutes later, Polly had found a cave. The entrance was almost completely snowed in, but there was a tiny opening at the top. Polly would have overlooked it, if a slightly drowsy bat hadn't emerged at just the right moment. Bats were the best, she thought.

She let her eyes follow it for a while as it flew into the night.

"Bats are basically rodents, right?" she said after a while, and grinned. She wasn't even hungry; that must have been her inner quartermaster speaking.

Mal was, by now, trying to get some of the snow out of the way, using Polly's tea mug and her own bare hands. She had tried to do it with the sword, possibly out of snow-related aggression. It hadn't worked.

"No eating bats, Pol," she said absent-mindedly, not looking up from what she was doing. "They could be relatives."

Polly shrugged. "I don't have any bat relatives," she said.

"I do," said Mal. "I kindly implore you not to eat them. They're tetchy enough as they are."

She finished her work with grim determination and no help from Polly. Polly did feel just that tiny bit useless, but they only had one actual mug-sized mug between them now, and Mal had refused to let Polly touch the teeny tiny porcelain espresso cup that she had carried around for emergencies (and also, Polly thought, for a certain inexplicable sentimentality Mal wasn't going to admit to).

And wait -

Mal had _relatives?_ Down Polly's mind went, down down down the slippery slope that was the topic of vampire reproduction. How do they _suckle?_ she thought weakly, and then her brain shut down and she hastily restarted.

Teeth, she thought. Ngk. Need wholesome thoughts right now -

"There," said Mal, and Polly thankfully snapped back to reality. "Hardly a cave, but we can put up the tent. It's almost water-resistant, after all." Polly watched her walking over to the pack, struggling to open it with frozen fingers, and there it was, there was the shaking again.

_Gonna share a tent with her..._

"Here, let me do this," said Polly, stepping beside her and noticing with distress that she was actually volunteering to put up the damn tent. "Have some coffee. Please."

"Nah," said Mal. "I'm running out as it is."

One. Two. Three.

"_What_?"

"I've had to ration for weeks, Pol," said Mal. "We've been camping for a while, yes?"

"I know that, Mal," said Polly. "What is this, some kind of adventure trip? From Borogravia to Ankh-Morpork on two point five coffee beans?"

"Twenty-six, actually," said Mal. "I counted."

"Daft," said Polly. "Crazy. Completely bonkers. You could have told me."

"I can refill," said Mal. "As soon as I've figured out how to keep you from attacking people. Zlobenia is a nation full of crazy coffee addicts." She grinned. "My kind of people, really."

"How to keep _me_ from -?" began Polly. "_You_ are the one who's shaking and randomly hugging people and looking completely, utterly deshabille and you _bit_ me and -"

"There's _no_ need to worry," said Mal. "Well, little need. Is my hair that bad?"

"Fine," said Polly. "Do what you want. I'm putting up the tent, seeing as we're _snowed in_ with no prospect of reaching any human settlement at _all_."

Their tent was the sort of tent that was supposed to accommodate two people, which was... exactly what it did. It was also completely inappropriate for any kind of serious warfare; the amount of cursing required to put it up tended to counteract the half-hearted camouflage-effect of the grey-green linen.

And curse Polly did. She'd been getting good at tents lately, despite frozen fingers, but over the course of the last winter, she had grown heartily fed-up with all sorts of army tents. 'Roomy, comfy, and water-resistant' summed up everything they weren't. The only thing worse than sharing the army tent with anyone was not sharing the army tent with anyone, because then you'd get paranoia, too. And cold.

Midstream, somewhere between "bloody" and "tent", she cast a glance at Mal, who had -

- sort of collapsed in the snow, doing things to -

_What._

Polly tried to concentrate on tying rope A to hook B, she really did. But Mal daintily inspecting coffee beans before putting them back into the bag was -

No need to worry, indeed.

"Come here, I'm done," Polly called. She was openly watching now, and added, "Are you giving them names or something?"

Mal put the coffee bag on the ground while she took her time getting up. For a while, it really looked as if she'd be leaving it there, only sweeping the bag up as an afterthought.

Well. So far, so unsurprising.

"What?" said Mal. "They're the children I've never had!"

She was walking over to Polly, swaying only a tiny little bit too much, and Polly wondered if she was going to survive the night. _Be a m... a grown-up about it_, she thought. She proceeded to usher Mal inside, and followed.

"Please," said Polly, "do keep the topic of vampire reproduction far away from me."

"Polly, dear," said Mal. "You fixating on teeth or something?"

"No, _you_ are -" began Polly, and thought, and added, "Well, _are_ teeth involved?"

There was a lifted eyebrow. "Matter of preference, really," said Mal.

"Eurgh," said Polly. "I _meant_ tiny widdle vampire babies. Forget it."

Once inside the tent, Polly struggled out of most of her wet, icy clothes, fully aware that there'd be no drying them anytime soon. She marvelled at the white cloud that was her breath. It really was one bastard of a winter, was it?

Polly had a short internal struggle whether to keep the soaked socks on. The socks lost, on account of them being an icy nightmare, although she didn't have replacements. Polly had, always carried an extra pair of socks, hur hur, but they only had Mal's pack now, and Polly had, actually, though Mal was still Maladict to the world, never quite found out how Mal handled the socks business.

Possibly her delicate soft silk stockings didn't do much good in that respect, she mused.

"Wool, actually," said Mal. She was still sitting cross-legged on the tent floor, not moving a muscle, but watching. Polly felt a blush coming on. She grabbed the blanket and drew it over herself. Not that there was anything much to be seen, she thought. After all, she was a woman of sensible underwear.

"What?" she asked.

"I'm wearing woollen socks. Before you ask, no, they don't have ruffles."

"My world is collapsing," said Polly. "And how come you're reading my thoughts?" She snuggled into the blanket for warmth, and comfort, too.

"Did I?" said Mal. "Oh, _damn_ -"

"Get a move on, woman," said Polly, "it's getting cold."

Mal didn't react, at least not the way Polly would have preferred; she was just sitting there, rubbing her eyes, and shivering, though that must have been the cold. Must have been.

"Oh, come on now," Polly said and unwrapped herself from the blanket, the cold hitting her body again with full force, "you need to get out of these clothes. Here, I'll help you."

"Don't bother," said Mal, as Polly, behind her, was maneuvering her out of her thick, black coat. "I'm going to leave," she added.

The snow that was caked onto the collar and on the insides of the sleeves hadn't even been melting anymore, Polly noticed.

"You'll bloody well stay," said Polly. "Hands up," she added, pulling the clammy shirt over Mal's head. The vampire wasn't resisting. Polly was really good at being the motherly type, at least she thought that until Mal rested her head against Polly's shoulder for one tiny moment. Motherly didn't quite cover _that._

"I rather think I should go, really," said Mal. Polly could feel Mal's muscles tensing, as if readying to get up, She wasn't having with this.

"You might want to do the breeches by yourself," Polly said, "else, I fear this'll fall under the category of things we aren't talking about."

Mal did no such thing.

"It seems to me, Polly, dear," she said, instead, "that you are not listening."

Bloody stupid stubborn vampire.

"You've brought me here and you're bloody well not going to leave me alone now," said Polly. "So sorry if that's inconvenient for you."

She did grab Mal's wrist at this point, and she noticed that the piece of cloth that Mal had tied around her hand was still very much in place, and she noticed something else.

Bite marks.

"You need get over that trust thing," she added.

"Trust thing?"

"Look," said Polly, "I've noticed you're not sleeping next to me, and I'd really like to know why. I don't think I'm that dangerous to you."

Polly already had a gallery of strange Mal glares. This one was certainly in the top five, possibly because she saw Mal's face upside down and underneath her, possibly because it was a really fine specimen of a glare.

"Well, actually..." Mal began.

"Yeah?"

"I don't actually think it's you who's dangerous, and neither do I think I gave off the impression that I might think it was," Mal said.

"So no need to worry, yes?"

"_You_ don't need to worry, Pol," said Mal. A pause. "I can worry all right, though."

"You're not making any sense," said Polly, still holding on to Mal's wrist. "Why isn't this healing?"

"Why isn't what healing?"

Mal, thought Polly, must have had a fair idea of what Polly had meant, since she was, at this point, trying to wrestle her arm free, without much success. Polly knew she was stronger than that, so what -

Polly tugged at the ruffly, slightly stained sleeve of Mal's undershirt, pulled it back to get a better view of the dark, scabby marks.

"Why isn't it healing?" she asked again, sharply. "You've had three days and you are a bloody vampire and you shouldn't even have bloody scars left, so why the bloody hell isn't this healing?" Polly could feel some serious hysterics coming on. Asking the same question three times surely was one sign of that.

Silence.

"Mal?"

"I didn't know it would happen like this," Mal said, not even looking at Polly. "Look, I never turned someone before. They don't give you a manual."

Polly was looking at the symmetric imprints again, and something inside her clicked. There was the memory of Mal staggering back, that look of terror on her face...

"It was me, wasn't it?" she asked. "You're unstable because - ?"

Mal winced. "Not your fault," she said, "it's mine. I should have known."

There was a pause in which Polly considered things. Such as _I might be a little too caught up in what she did to me to consider what I -_

So the coffee situation probably wasn't helping, either; at least one thing that she could blame on Mal. Still -_  
_  
"I'm sorry," she said softly. She had never thought about the implications of blood loss in vampires before, but it made some sense if you twisted your brain around a few tight corners.

"I said it wasn't your fault," said Mal, "now, care to give me my arm back? So I can get up?"

Polly did, reluctantly, but the effect was rather spoiled when she put her arms around Mal's shoulders, on account of it being a very cold winter night. She was freezing something awful, and Mal was being difficult, and Polly needed the warmth, although she possibly didn't need it all that much, being immortal and all, and _was this ever getting ridiculous_.

Bit warmer, though.

"Polly," said Mal, after a long moment of almost but not quite leaning into the embrace, "I've got to..."

"You never attacked anyone, and you have been more... unstable before," Polly pointed out.

"Yes," said Mal, "I've been Mr Nice Coffee Drinker Guy since the day I was fucking born, Polly. Think again."

"I _am_ thinking," said Polly.

_For example_, she thought, _I am thinking about why you just used those exact words_ -

"What if I -"

There was a sharp indraw of breath. "Okay," said Mal. "Stop thinking right now."

"I am thinking about it, Mal," said Polly. "Remember what old Scallot said?"

"No."

"About the leg-sharing? It's the only way they survived winter in the mountains."

"I'm sure I don't remember a word of it," said Mal. "Besides," she added, "only one half of each came back. Forget it."

There may or may not have been a little 'plop' when Polly lost her patience.

"Mal, I am not putting up with this. You're frightening me, and so is the snow outside, into which I will not let you go, on account of it being frightening, and besides, we're not talking about legs here. Be reasonable, damn it."

In her arms, Mal had fully given in to the shivering. Polly was getting serious doubts about her offer, only -

She bloody well wasn't, right? This had to happen now, before there was a general loss of control. She just needed to convince Mal.

"Please, Mal," she said, "just this once. Just for... stabilising effects. It doesn't mean you're going to go back to underwired nightdresses and acting crazy. Just do it now before you start to seriously hurt...," _me_, "...someone."

"I've got _that_ filed under seriously hurting people, actually," said Mal. "Besides, I'm a natural at the escapism thing. Just let me _go_, damn it."

"We're low enough that you might meet someone who isn't immortal, Mal," said Polly. "Besides, where do you want to go?" She leaned forward. "No coffee shops 'round here, Mal. We are _snowed in_."

She knew she was appealing to Mal's morals now. Well, time to find out if Mal had any.

One of the nastier parts of her mind thought, _better a humble wood-gatherer than me_, but it was silenced. Polly, on the whole, wasn't that nasty, right?

Mal was silent for a minute. Clearly, she was doing some thinking. Polly was careful not to interrupt her.

Finally, Mal lifted her head and turned towards her, and Polly let go out of sheer self-defence. She'd never seen an expression quite like this.

"Lie back, Polly," said Mal. Polly was automatically searching her voice for strange, bloodlust-y undertones, but there weren't any, she hoped, and she could feel her eyes widen with something that might have been surprise, but not fear. Never fear. She hadn't actually thought Mal would take her up on her offer, had she?

"I'm kidding, Polly," said Mal with a slight smile. She reached for her clothes.

Polly had had quite enough of this. She grabbed Mal by the ruffly collar and dragged her close and down.

"I'm _not_," she said into the ear of a - finally - speechless Mal. Polly hadn't intended on coming down on the bottom, though. That must have been Mal's vampire instincts kicking in.

Speaking of which -

"One question, though," said Mal, touching Polly's face with one icy hand. "Why do you want me to lose control?"

"The way I see it, you are losing control just now," said Polly.

"You're not making it easier," said Mal. "I can keep myself together, you know?"

"For how much longer?" asked Polly, softly, and reached up to brush away a tendril of Mal's hair that had been irritating her. "Come on," she said. "It won't get any more consensual than this."

"That's a pretty ambivalent statement," observed Mal.

Polly sighed.

"Mal?" she said.

"Polly?"

"Bite me."

Mal closed her eyes. The touch of her fingers was cool on Polly's jaw, pushing her head gently to the side and upwards. Her other hand was resting, just so, upon the point where Polly suspected her heart had wandered off too.

She felt a soft brush of lips upon her neck, and that was all there was for now, because Mal was talking again.

"This is stupid, Polly," she said. "You're scared."

"Am not," said Polly.

"It's going to hurt, Polly," said Mal. "You're scared and too bloody stubborn to admit it."

"Nervous," said Polly. "Also, immortal. Will you kindly practise your amazing self-control another time? I'm getting a bit bored here." She reached out again, her hand on the back of Mal's head, held her breath, urged her down. Just a little.

On the whole, it felt exactly like someone perforating your jugular vein with their teeth, that was to say, it hurt a lot in a 'help, an army doctor is amputating my toe'-way. The bite of the reformed vampire, it was almost tame.

_It's all wrong this should be reversed -_

There was a sound that sounded a bit like breathing in, but not quite, and Polly felt her blood being drawn. For a terrible second, there, she thought that it was too late, that Mal was losing it completely, and just then she wanted to scream very much, but didn't find the air and -

"There," whispered Mal, replacing her lips on Polly's throat with the soft touch of her fingers, waiting for the wound to close up.

_It's all wrong, this is how it should go -_

Polly shut her eyes, but the image was in her mind, clear as ice: Mal under her, subject to her anger, eyes wide open and her body shivering all over again, and all the ways Polly could make her scream -

The echo of it rang not in her ears, but further inside, and she opened her eyes to a world that had gone all haywire and was, somehow, still preferable to the world inside.

Define preferable.

The faint smell of blood in the air, a tiny red drop on Mal's lip, (memory of taste), the best thing there ever was, and in the blink of an eye Polly found herself grabbing a fistful of Mal's hair, a small sound of quite possibly surprise, or pain, and she craned her neck to get it back, get it all back. It ended some sort of kiss, tasting of iron, of salt, but a kiss nonetheless.

And that was that, and Mal ended up resting her head on Polly's shoulder, her face turned away, and Polly stroked her hair because it was all the distraction she had, and they were both still quite cold.

"... I hate hurting you," said Mal after a long while, her voice barely audible.

"So did it help, then?" asked Polly.

A pause, and then, "I think so," said Mal.

"Good," said Polly. "Would have been a bloody waste, otherwise."

"Indeed."

At this point, Polly gathered Mal just a little bit closer, for cold-related reasons. Just for a moment.

"I have no idea where the hell the kissing came from, though," she murmured. "'m sorry."

There was a pause in which the world was almost okay.

"I do," said Mal finally. "Have an idea, I mean. Don't mention it."

Polly had to disentangle herself from all of this, turn away a little. It was necessary, sanity-wise.

"V'mpire thing?" she asked.

"Maybe," said Mal. "Probably,"

Polly heard, and felt, Mal moving around her, drawing the blanket over both of them, tucking in stray ends, and then moving to lie next to her. Not quite as close as she'd used to, when it was merely part of the "Gods, Polly, please don't freeze" routine they - well, Mal - had established during the winter. Back in the Borogravian mountains, when this had still been safe.

"Mal?" she asked at some point.

"Yes?" Mal sounded very, very awake, Polly thought, compared to herself, who had just managed to slur Mal's name.

"'m scared."

There wasn't really an answer, as such, just Mal sort of missing a breath. Maybe, Polly wasn't sure. Slowly, she drifted off into sleep, completely aware that Mal didn't.

-

Polly woke up cold.

Instant aggression made her stumble to her feet. That, and the cold, and maybe also some honest concern at the lack of Mal. She felt for her socks and boots and put both on, wincing. Failing to find the rest of her clothes, she draped Mal's cloak over herself.

How was that for the bat look?

Outside, the sun was shining. Actually shining! Mal must have been up for a while now; a fair amount of snow had been removed from the space around the cave entrance, and she had done something clever with the leftover ropes from the tent. Their clammy clothes were drying in the sunlight, or, all right, maybe just freezing into something solid, but the thought was there.

Mal was sitting in the middle of it all, drinking brownish water that gave off a faint smell of something that might once have been stored next to a bag of coffee.

"How did you manage to boil water?" asked Polly. Mal looked up to her as if this was a really stupid question.

Well, it was a really stupid question, but -

"Built a fire," said Mal.

Indeed, there was a fire burning. Mal had dug a hole into the ground, and a heap of twigs was smoldering in it. Considering the fact that every available surface was covered in a fair amount of snow, Polly had to admit she was impressed.

Polly sat down opposite to her, just now realising that Mal, actually, was trying not to look at her at all. It was not surprising, considering Mal was drinking sort-of-coffee, and the relationship between Mal and coffee had always been a special one, but still.

"So, how are you feeling?" Polly asked.

"How are you feeling?" asked Mal, completely disregarding the question. Polly wasn't going to put up with these vile communication strategies.

"I asked first," she said.

Mal shrugged. "Surprisingly fine," she said, "I mean, I'm trying not to die of embarrassment here, but, yeah, I'm fine."

Polly tried to catch her eyes, she really did, but Mal was concentrating on her coffee and nothing else.

"Why embarrassment?" she asked.

"I'm supposed to be the stable one, remember?" said Mal. She may just as well have been talking to her espresso cup, but at least she was talking. "I'm supposed to get you to Ankh-Morpork nice and safe, because it's the least I can do, and then I go and get all... distracted." She shook her head."Impossible."

"Knock it off, Mal," said Polly, "self-pity doesn't suit you."

Mal didn't actually spit her coffee back out, but it looked like a close call. "But I'm a vampire!" she protested.

"Hello, Temperance League," said Polly lightly.

"Yeah, right," said Mal.

Polly shrugged. "Got any saloop?" she asked.

"In a moment." Mal got up and filled the kettle with snow.

Saloop was truly mystical, it was. Saloop was made from the big-leaved black tea, with cream and as much sugar as could possibly be legal, and still, you could subtract the sugar and the cream and sometimes even the tea leaves and it would still be saloop. It was amazing.

"So, getting back on topic -" said Mal, when Polly had been issued with a regimental mug full of the best beverage in the world.

"Yeah?" she asked. She was, for the first time, experiencing how someone could be wholly taken in by a cup of steaming hot liquid. If this was how Mal felt every day, then Polly was all for it. Up to a point, anyway.

"How are you feeling?" asked Mal.

"Fine," said Polly. "You didn't drink all that much," she added and thought, gosh, the verb 'drink' should never be used in conjunction with body juices.

At least not during breakfast conversation.

Oh, _shove_ it. It was better than 'suck' at any rate. At least in this particular sentence.

Oh _dear._

"Really?" asked Mal, the tiniest hint of what was possibly anxiety in her voice. It may also have been suppressed laughter, Polly supposed, what with Mal being prone to the occasional bit of mind-reading.

"Really fine," said Polly. "Though I should go find me some - uh - you keep referring to it as breakfast."

Mal felt up and down her trouser legs, then unbuttoned a sleeve of her shirt, then found something. "There you go," she said, and threw it to her. It was a live rat.

Polly caught it, and swallowed.

"How do you get them to sit still?" she asked. She wasn't good with rodents. They tended to struggle a lot.

"They don't. I just let them wander about a bit," said Mal. "I've got another one, somewhere, in case you're really hungry."

"You realise this is disgusting, do you?" asked Polly, eyeing the rat quizzically.

"They probably wash more often then we do, these days," said Mal. "Y'know, I'd kill for a bathtub. Er. Only I wouldn't, of course." She put some thought into her coffee.

"No, what I mean is letting food get so close to you, that's disgusting," said Polly, "Food shouldn't enjoy being food and, er," she gave up, as an image of open windows and women in nightdresses briefly flashed up in her mind. "It's a vampire thing, right?"

Mal didn't even look up. "Hurry up with that one," she said. "It's terrified."

Now that Polly thought about it, there were little squeaky sounds coming from the rat.

"D'you now what I'm going to do first right after withdrawal?"

Mal mumbled something that might have sounded like 'throw up', and added, "No, what?"

"I'm going vegetarian," said Polly, and bit into the rat.

A smile. "Don't you think this is taking things maybe a bit far?"

"I get excited at the idea of biting vermin!" said Polly after a moment. "How can you _possibly_ fail to see my point?"

"Well," said Mal, "you never actually said no to a bit of rat scubbo when Rosemary cooked it."

"That was 'cos we didn't have much of a choice!" said Polly and realised that she had plunged headfirst into an all too obvious trap.

"So, what's the difference, then?" asked Mal, finishing off her coffee and refilling the cup in one movement.

Polly sighed. "I'm not going into this again."

"Okay."

"I mean, well..." Okay, so Polly had lied. "Listen, have you ever been human? I mean -"

"I know what you mean. And no, I was born like this," said Mal. "Everyone with a total of more than twelve names generally is, unless they're showing off."

Polly glared. "It's not showing off if it's done by vampires?" she asked, if only to bypass the dreaded topic of vampire reproduction by a mile or two.

"Exactly. We're never showing off."

"Yeah," said Polly, "you're just showing."

"Right now I am walking around in clothes that haven't been washed for _days,_ I am not properly combed and half of your breakfast is running up my trouser leg," said Mal. "Honestly, Polly -"

"Stop that. You're getting girly, corporal."

She received a strange glare.

"There's really a lot you've got to learn about vampires," said Mal.

"Yeah, well, so everyone's girly," said Polly. "I'd like to get back to the topic."

This was maybe not the ideal point in time, considering the discussion, but with the fire dying and the cloak being her only shield against a cruel, cold world, it was a choice between freezing and moving closer to Mal, and Polly chose the latter. An arm was put around her. They could do this entirely on autopilot. It was amazing.

It also didn't mean anything.

"I think," Polly began, and then stopped to find out exactly what she was thinking, and then find a diplomatic way of putting it. "I think the reason why it's so hard to explain to you why I'm disinclined to warm up to the idea of vampirism is..." good start, thought Polly, now think of a reason, and try not to mangle grammar any further, "... is because, um, you don't quite know what I'm talking about when I say I miss being human."

"Which is supposed to tell me what, exactly?" asked Mal.

"Erm... what I said, really," said Polly. Damn, she was proud she had gotten that sentence out once. She was not going to reformulate.

"What you said is, actually, that I'm just not able to understand your inner turmoil," said Mal. "Excuse me, but that's a really _vampire_ way of thinking. Are you going to write a sonnet about it?"

"You're making fun of me," said Polly.

"So?" said Mal. "You seem to believe vampirism does comes with the social grace of a troll in a dwarf mine."

"Ha," said Polly. "It doesn't?"

"Uh," said Mal. "It... depends. Yes. What I'm trying to say here, Polly, is -"

Polly waited a few seconds, then nudged her. "Yeah?"

"What I'm trying to say here is, er," said Mal, "I do, in fact, try my best to understand your inner turmoil."

There was a pause in which Mal clearly chose not to elaborate.

"You're not getting it at all," said Polly finally. "It's difficult."

"I'm not going to argue that."

"Mal," said Polly, "fact is, I don't entirely feel like Polly anymore. I mean, I still have all the bits and then some, and in full working order, too, but I don't feel..." What, exactly? "I get so angry sometimes that I get scared of myself. I'm not in control, Mal. I mean, I -," a pause in which her thoughts reassembled, "damn, I kissed you for a drop of blood. That's hardly _me_."

"If it's any help," said Mal, "my professional opinion would be that quite a lot of that anger is you. Vampires are the whiny type."

"Wow," said Polly, "I bet the vampires are glad you're not their official spokesperson."

Mal shrugged. "Well, I'm supposed to be a disgrace," she said lightly.

"Did someone tell you that?" asked Polly.

"Not in so many words, no."

"You mean -"

"I mean that a few people stopped talking to me. It wasn't hard to figure out."

There was a short stretch of silence between them. Polly always found silence to be difficult when there were only two. It talked too much. She shifted a little closer to Mal, for reasons of freezing.

"So, when are we leaving, then?" asked Polly, if only to change the topic. "Come to think of it, where are we going to?"

"Well," said Mal, "I don't think there's much of a point in staying in the mountains, on account of the snow situation, so we have to go lower. Tonight, I think, when the clothes are dry." She gave them a taxing look. "Dryer, at least."

Polly sighed. It seemed so logical. "What about the bloodsucking thing?" she asked.

"What about it?"

"There's bound to be some wood gatherers," said Polly. "You have coffee, well, sort of; what do I have?"

"Well," said Mal, "rats and such. And, er, me, should the need arise."

"Because that was such a good idea the first time?" said Polly.

"Polly," said Mal, "this is, ah, kind of hard to explain, but, you know, the transition thing I told you about? It won't _always_ be rats. Um."

Gods, thought Polly. _That. _Just when she'd thought she'd figured _something_ out -

"I'm gonna get cravings for... gods, Mal, I hate you so much right now."

"Anything human-shaped will do," said Mal. "And don't look at me like that. It may seem a bit strange, but it's logical."

"Strange? Try icky," said Polly.

Mal groaned. "What are you, five?"

_Wow_, thought Polly. _Exhibit A: yes, Mal gets angry._

"Well, no," she said. "I'm nineteen, not going to grow older, and I'm scared to death."

It was then that she broke down, but, all things considered, Polly thought she did a pretty good job on not showing it. Only one or two sobs made it through the barricades, but those were enough to make Mal shift uneasily.

That's what the inner turmoil looked like: an infinity waiting to be filled, and there was only Polly to do the filling. Hard enough to lead a meaningful life if you only made it to sixty, or make that nineteen, 'cause Polly -

- should be dead.

She felt herself being pulled into a tight embrace by Mal, and hated herself for complying so easily, like a beaten dog running to the first source of comfort that offered itself. But there was nothing else here, only snow, only the two of them, and two meant trouble.

So trouble it was, then.

"You should have let me die," said Polly. She didn't care if she sounded dramatic, which was good, because she didn't. Sniffling, more like.

"I would have, if you'd just gone ahead and _done_ it," said Mal.

_"What?"_

"I waited for an hour and you were still breathing," said Mal, "so I built a bloody fire in the middle of the bloody battlefield and made myself some bloody coffee and you were still breathing, and then I waited for the sun to set and you were _still_ breathing, and then I sorta screamed at you to, you know, fucking die already."

"Charming," said Polly. "Good friends are so invaluable."

Mal shrugged. "I was a bit out of it at that point," she said. "And I think that was when you sorta woke up, only not really, as it has turned out, and I proceeded to have an existential conversation with the reaper man. Happy?"

"No," said Polly. "Not happy. You know I'm not happy. Damn, Mal, you had the nerve to _demand_ your mercy killing, and yet you couldn't even -"

_Should have gone and left me to the crows_, she thought. _Not as if I was conscious. Not as if -_

_Not as if I would ever have been capable of killing Mal,_ she thought. _Not until now._

"Hey," said Mal softly, oddly comforting, and that was something which Polly hadn't thought her capable of. It did make her feel like one of the small furry animals that so easily took a fatal liking to Mal.

"Stop doing that," she said, her voice not shaking, not shaking at all.

"Doing what?"

"Hypnotising me," said Polly. "Or whatever it is you're doing."

"Oh, please," said Mal. "You're still yourself. Just a bit angrier maybe."

Which was, admittedly, a perspective Polly had not yet considered. Of course she's right, said a voice inside her, after all, she's only sucked out your blood, not your brain, and it's time to be a grown-up about things.

Yes, but she's _sucked my blood!_

"Realism is the last thing I need now," she growled. Come to think of it, what she really need was a hug, and come to think of that, she had a hug. Still not happy, but calm. Calmer. One breath at a time, one breath, and then another, and another. There.

"I know," whispered Mal, stroking her hair and being all impossible again. "I'm sorry."


	5. Warning: Mentions Alcohol

**Note: **still Pratchett's. Chapter delayed by exams and alcohol. Blame the establishment!

The establishment needs to be blamed more often, anyway.

**- **

**Plogviehze, Baby: Chapter 4. In which there is attempted murder.**

**-  
**

"Okay," said Polly that evening, after maybe ten minutes of stumbling through snow that was still piled up at least three feet high, "this is supposed to be better than yesterday how, exactly?"

"It isn't," admitted Mal. "Well, I suppose it is, 'cause it isn't snowing. That's great, don't you think?" She said that with the air of someone being thoroughly fed up with the world at large, a mindset which, at least, agreed more with Polly than the usual superiority.

It also wasn't very helpful.

"Explain to me again why we can't fly," said Polly.

"Do you think you can fly?" asked Mal, looking back.

"Well, no, but -"

"Then you can't," said Mal, and marched on.

A snowball, thought Polly. A snowball to her back, that would be an adequate reaction. But no. As she had stressed earlier that day, she very definitely was not five.

"It's one of those intrinsic fears again, is it?" she asked. Vampires seemed to have more of those than could possibly be good for them.

"It is," said Mal.

"So I should be able to overcome it?" said Polly. She was holding on to this. Everyone who currently had their boots filled with snow would, wouldn't they?

"With the appropriate teacher and an easy-going attitude towards minor drawbacks like broken bones and a smashed skull, yes," said Mal. "It's not as if these things don't heal. Two days maximum, good as new."

"And you're not -"

"Can we say I'm pedagogically challenged and leave it at that?" asked Mal.

Polly pondered this. For a moment, at any rate. "Of course not!"

Mal laughed. It was a nervous laugh. A 'there's something I'd prefer not to admit'-laugh.

Polly sighed. "Of all the vampires I could have ended up with, I get the one who can't fly." She prodded miserably at the snow.

Mal shrugged. "Well, there's at least five of us, and we get together every year and indulge in cream sherry and blueberry muffins and try to convince ourselves that having friends is vastly overrated, anyway."

"You're lying."

There was a pause, and then -

"Joking," said Mal. "I'm joking, Polly. Big difference. Lighten up, kid."

"I'm trying, all right?" It wasn't really a scream.

At least not by, say, Jackrum standards.

Well.

"Why can't you fly?" added Polly, striving for a more conversational tone. "I thought flying and vampires go together like, well, like nightdresses and underwire. Um."

"Look," said Mal, "I can do the fog thing and I can do the bat thing. I'm _good_ at the bat thing. I hardly ever leave my clothes behind anymore. I am, however, er, and I think I told you that before -"

"Afraid of heights?" suggested Polly.

"I'm all right with heights, actually," said Mal, "as long as I've got something to stand on, hold on to, or hang down from. It's the falling I don't like."

She was currently standing on snow, just like Polly, which was, she thought, a big part of the problem.

"Besides, I think it will be better once we're on the other side of the mountains," added Mal, "sunnier there, and such."

The other side of the mountains, thought Polly. The other side of the mountains. This would be acceptable _if these weren't the fucking Ramtops_.

"So if you're good at the bat thing," nag nag nag, "doesn't that mean you'd be flying either way?"

"It's different," said Mal. "Bats are supposed to be flying, so it's actually quite easy. Ha, well, except for my dear brother, who seems to find flying in a straight line to be a bit of a challenge."

"You've got a brother?" asked Polly, while wading through another snowdrift. She could, of course, have walked around it, but the snowdrifts were basically deep snow surrounded by insignificantly less deep snow. Pointless, really.

"Yes," said Mal, and that was it. Polly supposed she shouldn't have been surprised, given the vast array of facts she _didn't_ know about Mal, like, oh, her full name, favourite dessert, five things she'd do on her Sunday off.

But there were more pressing matters at hand. The snow, to name one. Surely there had got to be a better way of travelling.

"So can you teach me the bat thing, then?" asked Polly.

"Um," was the careful answer, and there was also snow and snow and more snow.

"I mean, at least explain to me why you can't," said Polly. "That way, I might be inclined to believe you're not being unhelpful on purpose."

"It's one of those things that are kinda hard to explain," said Mal, "the bat thing, I mean. It's like... you know, technically, it's morphing your body into a completely different shape while trying to keep your clothes on... or not, as the case may be..."

"Er," said Polly.

Mal coughed. "Aaanyway, morphing with clothes on. Never works in the beginning, and some never get the hang out of staying clothed -"

"Can we just skip the clothes part and go right to the actual morphing?" said Polly, who had Mental Images. This was, of course, part of her soldier lad routine. Walk the walk, talk the talk, think the...

Oh dear.

(What she had seen of Mal: her arms, various times. Parts of back and belly, because sometimes, before her morning coffee, Mal had moved too fast for Polly to turn around before it was too late. Ankles. A strip of thigh through a ripped uniform. Mal's pale neck where Polly'd peeled back the collar to kiss the skin beneath. Her hands, all the time. )

"Yes, well, it's a whole body experience," said Mal. "Kinda hard to translate into a ten step programme."

"You learned it," said Polly.

"Took me a year," said Mal. "And I wasn't distracted by pressing matters."

"Do we have pressing matters?" asked Polly.

"Snow," said Mal.

Polly groaned. "Can we agree not to talk about that?" Yeah, thought Polly, a really wonderful strategy. Not talking about things had never failed her.

Never.

Damn.

-

"D'you think we might be able to, you know, grab a bite?" asked Polly at some point, several hours later, and thought, you know, I never asked for my vocabulary to be influenced like that.

Mal began feeling up and down the sleeves of her coat. Polly was puzzled for a moment, but no -

"Don't tell me you've still got that rat," she said. "You know, this should be illegal."

Mal shrugged. "Rats actually never made it into the list of Abominations, I think."

"Well, they bloody well should have," said Polly. "Besides, I didn't mean the actual existence of rats, though that should be a crime in and of itself, I meant the act of - stop cuddling it!"

"It's cold, poor thing," said Mal. "There you go." She handed it to Polly.

Polly considered making a few interesting faces, but she was too exhausted. She merely turned away and bit down and -

"Aren't you eating anything?" she asked, after a moment.

"Well," said Mal, "I suppose we've still got that horse-bread. Lovely for keeping your teeth sharp." She thought for a moment, and added, sheepishly, "Not that that matters."

She made no move to unpack it, though, which made Polly think.

"I haven't seen you eating anything since -" last night, thought Polly, twenty-four hours ago, and you weren't quite eating in the solid food sense of the word - and before that, a whole lot of nearly nothing -

"I'm fine," said Mal. "Could do with some coffee, but that's got time till we find a more comfortable spot."

"Till we find more coffee, you mean," said Polly, and dodged the offended glare just in time.

"It wouldn't kill you be a little considerate," said Mal. "Considering."

"There's still something in there," said Polly, trying to get her to take the rat. "Have it, please. You're worrying me."

"No, thanks," said Mal, eyeing the offered rat with a thoroughly indescribable expression. "I do not drink blood."

Polly glared. "Except for yesterday, yes?"

"That was a bit of a drawback, yes," said Mal. "A lapse in concentration. It will not happen again. I'm sorry it happened at all."

"Okay," said Polly. "But it made you feel better. Yes?"

"Yes," said Mal after a few seconds. "That is, as it were, the damn problem. And you might want to drink up, otherwise that's just cruel."

Oh gods... Polly hadn't noticed the rat was still twitching. For the first time in days, she felt sick at the thought of... whatever it was she was doing, and tried to shrug it off, like any soldier short of food would do eventually. She finished the rat and dropped on her knees to wash her mouth out with snow, spitting pink ice, the act of which caused a very peculiar sensation of deja vu.

- Hang on, she thought, but the memory slipped away -

It very nearly made her choke, but if she gave in to nausea, what would have been the bloody point? She felt Mal's eyes bore into her.

Polly dedicated a few seconds to undiluted exasperation. "Go away, Mal," she said. "This is not my finest moment."

"Sorry," said Mal, and turned around. Polly heard her make a few steps, and considered losing her lunch after all, and then -

"Will you look at that!" she heard Mal's voice from somewhere off. Polly looked up, and there Mal stood, farther away than Polly would have thought possible, in an opening between two snow-covered hills.

She'd probably found a whole bloody lot of snow, thought Polly, there isn't much else. Still, hope died last. She made her way over to Mal, carefully because her intestines didn't deserve to be shaken up like this. Nearly there, and there was a flapping of wings, and a bat rose up from some hidden point.

"What did you find?" asked Polly, and thought, this had better be bloody awesome.

Mal gestured her closer to where she was standing.

Polly stared. She wasn't afraid of heights, unlike to some vampire she wasn't going to name, thanks, but this -

"Well, I guess at least it's not more snow," she said, at least, after she'd made a large step backwards.

It was a valley. Of course, there was also snow involved, but what really caught the eye was the river. This must be...

"Kone river," said Mal with a certain delight in her voice. "Which flows directly into..."

"The Ankh," said Polly, who had never been taught geography but knew how to take a hint. "Well, I suppose at least there's no chance we're getting lost now, is there?"

"Only problem is," said Mal, straining her neck to look at the valley without actually moving closer to the cliff, "I'm not quite sure how to get down."

"I don't know either, but let's just follow that bat," said Polly.

Mal froze.

"What did you just say?"

"That bat, see?" said Polly. The bat was hovering somewhere on their left. "I saw that one twice already. It's quite helpful."

In the blink of an eye, Mal had moved towards the bat, but it just fluttered up and vanished. She turned around again.

"What did I tell you about bats?" she asked.

"So they could be tetchy relatives," said Polly, "but fact is, I think there's something resembling a path over there. I mean, maybe there's someone you haven't managed to piss off?"

The sentence was out before Polly could figure out whether it might be hurtful, but maybe it wasn't. There even was a slight smile, or maybe Mal only wanted to show off her canines.

"I don't know, I think I was quite thorough in that respect," said Mal, finally, and looked around.

Polly felt helpless at that. "Maybe not?" she volunteered.

"Or maybe you're just seeing things and that's an actual bat which is definitely not following us," said Mal, loudly. "Because I don't like being followed around."

"I don't think it's listening, actually," said Polly.

"Let's go," said Mal, "and absolutely not in that direction. We'll find a way."

Polly wasn't quite sure if this was the right moment for Mal to start being erratic, because she figured, hey, either it's a bat, which makes it harmless, or it's someone being helpful, which would be nice for a change.

She wasn't going to argue the point, though.

They found something that sort of resembled a downwards path, if one squinted. It was basically a narrow strip of land between the mountain and the abyss, but at least it wasn't completely snowed in, on account of being on the wrong - or right - side of the mountain.

They spent the early morning hours descending, sticking close to the mountain and trying not to look down. Polly watched Mal carefully. Mal was making tiny steps, holding on to dead roots in the wall with white-knuckled hands. When they had to pass a particularly narrow stretch, turned sideways and holding hands because it was just that crazy, Polly saw that her eyes were squeezed tightly shut, and her fingers dug into Polly's hand so hard it hurt.

Which was proving... what now? That she hadn't lied?

"Look, I've been thinking," said Mal, when they were almost down in the valley, after another hour or so.

"Yeah?" she asked.

"When you see that bat again -," Mal began, and stopped.

Polly waited for a few heartbeats.

"When I see that bat again," she prompted.

"Yeah, when you see that bat again, because I don't think it likes to show itself to me, anyway, tell me right away. And -" Mal paused, dragging a hand through her hair with an air of tired confusion. Polly was this close to reminding her how she had started her sentence, when Mal turned to her, not actually looking at her, but close, at least, and said:

"I want you to carry a stake."

This caught Polly by surprise, and she couldn't quite prevent some kind of squeaky sound from escaping. _Way to go, sergeant_, she thought. "But I'm not good with those!"

"Yes, but they don't know that!" said Mal. "Besides, just wave it around, or stick it in likely places."

"What's that supposed to achieve?"

"Well, it bloody hurts, for starters," said Mal. So do swords, thought Polly, plus you can also use them to peel potatoes, if you've got potatoes.

"I don't think I'm able to do that," she said, after a while. It was quite hard to admit, even to herself, but getting armed up while she still had these anger management issues sounded... unwise... and surely Mal couldn't be in her right mind to suggest something like that?

"What's up, soldier girl?" asked Mal. "It's not as if you're not already carrying a sword. And crossbows."

Oh. That.

"Okay," said Polly,"okay. Don't think we're going to find much wood just lying around, though."

"Could get some in that village over there."

Polly stopped dead.

"You failed to mention there was a village," she said. There was, though. In not too great a distance, a tiny row of houses was visible. Up bubbled the anger, but this time, Polly felt justified.

Mal didn't even slow down. "Don't worry," she called over her shoulder, "I don't think there's anybody around."

Polly made an exasperated effort to catch up. "How do you know?" she asked.

"You don't?"

"No, of course not!" said Polly. "I mean, I can see there's no smoke coming out of the chimneys, and there's no footprints in the snow, but then, we're off-road and at least two hundred yards away and it's four in the bloody morning!"

"Seven, more like," said Mal. "Besides, it's... it's a vampire thing, all right?"

"But I _am_ a -," said Polly and trailed off, because the sentence felt shaped all wrong. Reluctantly, she followed Mal. It was appealing, wasn't it? If the village was indeed abandoned, then they had the chance of sleeping in a shed, or something. A roof above their head sounded good.

It would probably be clever to find out what had driven the villagers away, though.

"So, how can you tell?" asked Polly.

"Heartbeats, mostly," said Mal. "You'll learn to pick them up, although you probably won't like -"

She stopped, just by the village sign, and lifted her hands up to her ears, giving off an impression of strained listening. Polly tried, really tried, to make as little distraction as possible, let her heart slow down, but found out she had no idea how to go about that.

"That's strange," Mal muttered.

"What's up?" asked Polly. "You know, maybe we should really make some sort of detour."

"I think they left their cattle behind," said Mal. "Cows and such. You don't do that unless you're in a real hurry."

"Are you sure everyone's gone, though?" asked Polly, again. She was a little bit torn between being angry with Mal for displaying strange and yet undisclosed powers only she had - _and did she hear my heartbeat, all the time? 'Cause that's just private_ - and being relieved that at least one of them had a faint idea of what was going on.

"I suppose it's possible that one or two human heartbeats get lost in the buzz," said Mal. "It's been a while since I really listened for that kind of thing. On the other hand, it could very well be just cows."

"Then let's walk around it," said Polly. "A roof above the head only makes one soft, I say."

Mal hesitated.

"Yes," she said, "but, coffee? Deserted villages are so damn hard to find."

"We don't know for sure if it's deserted."

"You don't have to come with me," said Mal. "I'm just going to have a look."

That was all good and logical, thought Polly, but she was bloody well not going to stand here and wait for a more or less reformed and, by now, probably malnourished vampire having a look around. She told Mal so, in no uncertain terms.

"Okay," said Mal. "Are you feeling murderous today?"

She didn't exactly cower under Polly's glare, but if she had been the type to do so, Polly mused, she probably would have done, because it was a good glare. She was still working on the logic of that last thought, though. And also -

"Of course not," she replied. "Because I, unlike you, have eaten, in a broad sense of the word, twice during the last day, while you seem to be living off sort-of-but-not-really-coffee, which has no nutritional value at all."

Polly was, by now, milking the height difference for all it was worth. Damn, was she ever good at the sergeant thing.

"So the real question is," she added, "corporal, are _you_ feeling murderous today?"

"Nah," said Mal. It could possibly have been a lie. "Anticipating your orders, sarge." A wink, and she turned to go. The light stride was back, Polly noticed, the feeling that Mal's feet weren't actually touching the ground when she was walking.

Maybe she hadn't lied. Who knew?

-

"Damn, they really must have been in a hurry," said Polly as she was looking through the shelves behind the bar in the village's only inn. It was quite a good inn, was her professional opinion. The floors weren't any muckier than was to be expected, and some of the bottles with the really fatal stuff had even managed to acquire a thin layer of dust.

"Now, what makes you say that?" asked Mal from the adjacent kitchen. It had been quite an argument, with Mal insisting that coffee was nourishing and therefore had to be kept next to onions and bread and such, and Polly pointing out that anything that came in tiny bags with the brand name embroidered on in curly golden letters was, by definition, not nourishing and thus had to be kept with the alcohol.

Tea, on the other hand -

"Is it the fact that the door was wide open?" continued Mal. "The open bottles? The fallen chairs? The overpowering smell of very, very, _very_ well-done pork?"

The smell was bad, Polly had to admit, bad in a 'I do not know why I put up with this, seeing as I sure as hell don't have a coffee problem' way. She wondered how Mal coped.

"Is it the half-empty coffee cup I see in front of me?" she heard Mal's voice.

One... two... three...

"You're not going to drink that," said Polly, standing in the kitchen door. Well. Mal had raised the cup to her face, but she seemed to be merely sniffing.

"Four or five days, I'd say," said Mal. "See how it's become all slushy?"

"Yes, I do," groaned Polly. "Tell me again why I tolerate you."

"It's Klatchian, I think," said Mal, sniffing again. "Klatchian coffee _never_ freezes." The look of intense concentration on her face was quite suddenly released by a sneeze. "Yes, I think it's the infamous Midnight Surprise. That's the one with black pepper. Now where have they left the damn bag?"

"You know," said Polly, "when it's you saying the words 'midnight surprise', I get some very strange images inside my head. By the way, I found some coffee liqueur, s'that any good?" She hesitantly held up a bottle with toffee-coloured liquid, only just now realising that maybe Mal and alcohol did not mix very well at this moment, what with the lack of hearty meals.

"Wanna try it?"

"Nah, dinner first," said Polly, and added in her best barmaid's voice, "or else you'll be really sorry tomorrow."

"Yes," said Mal. "I suppose I'll be."

"Um," said Polly. It could have been something of a moment, maybe, but Mal was already going through another drawer, tossing Polly a half-filled bag of tea, which she caught almost without looking. Polly supposed she could really get used to having reflexes like that. She left her lounging point at the doorframe to go and search the pantry, when -

"Found it," said Mal, "look. There it is." She was shaking a tin. Judging by the sound, it must be about half full, which would have been nice had the tin been a bit bigger.

Polly watched her open the lid and inhale the scent with an expression of bliss, a private moment between addict and substance. Then, quite suddenly and most of all, quite silently, the tin was put back into the drawer.

Polly gave her a questioning look, but Mal merely raised a finger to her lips, than pointed towards the door which lead to the bar. Polly screwed up her face in despair, which Mal acknowledged with an apologetic grin, listening hard.

Mal lifted one finger, listened some more, raised two.

And then Polly could hear footsteps, the creaking of wood. They were trying not to make a sound and failing dramatically.

The creaking stopped. Not disturbing the ensuing silence, Mal moved towards the door. How she pulled that off in her heavy army boots, on floorboards that creaked when you so much as looked at them funny, was completely beyond Polly. She wasn't going to complain, though.

She crept after Mal, not nearly as soundless, but at least she didn't knock anything over. She desperately tried not to think about the pack that they had left standing in the middle of the bleeding bar. There was no way they could make a discreet escape, and that was just worrying.

Mal made a very careful and very silent attempt to stick her head through the door. There was a swishing sound, a _"Hey!"_ from Mal, and she threw herself back at high speed, right into Polly.

An arrow was sticking in the doorframe. It was still vibrating.

The problem with pacifism was, thought Polly, that the other side always seemed to favour violence over a nice cup of tea. Couldn't they all just bloody get along?

Mal, meanwhile, had switched into her 'suave and not all that reformed vampire' routine. "Good morning, gentlemen," she said, striding out of the kitchen, her cloak dutifully moving in a dramatic whirl. Mal off-handedly arranged being missed by a second arrow, which turned out to be the last, "let me explain a few... golly gosh, you two really are the sorriest mob I've ever seen."

Polly, who had carefully trailed after her, knew at once that she was right. The two young men, unshaven and probably mostly honest farmer lads, shared between them a total of one crossbow with no additional arrows, one hammer, one stake and, of course, the traditional pitchfork.

But how did they know -

"Oh, look," said one of them. He spoke Borogravian with a thick accent, "It's back." He spat in Mal's general direction.

But how do they know we're Borogravian? How do they know we're Borogravian _vampires_? There had better be a damn good explanation.

"Now," said Mal, all careful smile and knowingness, "there seems to be a misunderstanding. I'm sure you two can work it out on your own while we just make our way to the backdoor." She reached for Polly's hand.

One of the men said something in Zlobenian. The other nodded grimly.

"I think the kid should get away, don't you think?" said Mr. Pitchfork. "Will be killed like our Elissa, five days ago." And he grinned a toothy grin. "Only us left now, bloodsucker. Look, no lacy nightgowns."

"Five days ago, Mal?" asked Polly. Of course she didn't believe a word, but -

Well, she did. Sex in a tree, indeed.

"I did not, in fact, kill anybody. Lately," said Mal. "I don't fancy starting now. Please respect my good intentions?" Her grip on Polly's hand got stronger.

Also, Polly noticed Mal was trying not to breathe.

Come to think of it, she also wasn't looking at the two men. The two _human_ men -

Polly looked from the mob to Mal, and back. The men, she noticed, were shivering, half with fear, half with an adrenaline rush that seemed to have crashed against a brick wall. Polly tried seeing things from their perspective, and thought she understood why they probably were puzzled.

A monster and a somewhat girly farm boy, holding hands. Honestly.

"Not killed anyone?" said Mr. Pitchfork. "Mistake from our side, Mr. van der Zülln? You think so?"

At once, Mal let go of Polly's hand. Polly looked at her, wanting to find some of that reassuring self-confidence, but only found shock.

"Surprised, eh? That's your name?" said the man. "Your name, your face, your stupid black cloak and your cissy ribbon?" Polly could see his hand tremble as it clenched around the stake.

"She was a lovely girl, Mr. van der Zülln. Wonderful personality. Such _nice hair_. Did you know that? Did you?" he said. "Get away, kid."

Polly did notice, at this point, that she was standing between Mal and the mob, which could have been interpreted as an act of protectiveness. She damn well didn't mean it.

"That your name, Mal?" asked Polly, but she knew, she knew.

There it was again, the anger, and she let it flow. The stake was in her hand before anyone knew it. With the other, she drew her sword, waving it in front of the two men.

"You get out of here," she said, "I'll deal. Honestly, just leave."

Suddenly stakeless, the mob didn't seem up to much of anything, looking at her with politely surprised expressions. One of them even raised an eyebrow. The nerve! Polly smiled a humorless smile.

These canines had to be useful at some point.

The men looked at each other, and at Polly, and seemed to have reached a mutual decision that they were not going to deal with two vampires at once. The pitchfork clattered loudly when it fell to the floor. There was no cloud of dust where the men had been, but it felt as if there should have.

Polly turned back to Mal.

"You know, your expression and stakes really don't mix," said Mal. "Put that away. Please"

"You told me to carry one," said Polly. "So, how do you like it, Miss van der Zülln?"

She noticed Mal was actually cornered by her, standing with her back to the wall, her eyes fixed on the stake.

"Yes, that's my name, in case you were wondering," said Mal.

"Actually, I stopped wondering just now," said Polly. "Your name, and your face, and your cloak, and your ribbon?" The wood of the stake felt rough in her hand. "And we all thought you had your little bloodsucking problem under control."

"I did, and do," said Mal. "Mostly. Put that thing away."

Polly moved closer, let her sword clatter to the floor. Mal was pressed to the wall now and still trying to retreat.

"Been hungry much lately, Mal?" she said. "That's why you bit me? Should have guessed, really."

Some resistance would have been nice, Polly thought. It was hard too keep the anger intense enough to put her hand flat on Mal's chest (heart beating under her fingers, oddly beautiful and frightening), and raising the stake, and not collapse onto the floor and cry; but she managed.

"If you believe that," said Mal, not looking up at her. She had gone very still, though. It must be fear, thought Polly, it must be.

"You know," said Polly, "I really have no idea where your heart is, exactly. But just imagine how much fun I could have, finding out."

Can do this. Easy.

"Fun, Polly?" said Mal, a bitter smile playing on her lips. "You've gone a long way."

There was a sound, the flapping of leathery wings. Polly didn't acknowledge it, but Mal did, looking up and away from her.

Polly hesitated.

"I'd remove the shirt first, if I were you," said Mal helpfully. "Pity to waste perfectly good clothes."

"Oh, do fuck off," said Polly, a bit distractedly. Her personal space felt distinctly invaded. Something was watching her.

A soft 'swoosh' behind her, rustling of clothes, the kind of rustling that a part of her brain automatically associated with billowing black clothes. Polly made a tiny step back, maybe just to get herself together.

"It's paining me to watch that," said a voice. "You're aiming about a mile too far left. Let me?" The stake was taken out of her unresisting fingers.

Polly turned around. She was rendered momentarily speechless for a moment, as opposed to -

"Oh, thank you so very much," said Mal. "I love dramatic rescues and _will you let go of that bloody stake_ because if there's any more pointing of anything wooden and pointy, no _matter_ who's pointer and who's pointee, I promise I'm going to get _hysterical_ on someone's arse. With _italics_. Arsehole."

You've got a point there, a part of Polly whispered, and she shut it up. For all she was, she wasn't suicidal.

The black-robed figure put the stake onto the bar, very much out of reach of Polly. But that, somehow, wasn't the matter anymore.

"A good evening to you, too, Mala... dict?" it said, clearly a bit unsure, clearly very amused.

"Just Mal for now, I think," said Mal, running a hand through her hair in a clear attempt at nonchalance, "but thanks for remembering."

There was a pause in which the stranger seemed to consider something.

"With _italics_?"

"Well," said Mal. "You know."

Mal moved behind Polly, walking around her and towards the stranger, who didn't look all that strange, Polly thought. How... strange. Mal looked murderous, at first, but then -

There was more billowing of black robes as two vampires ended up in a tight embrace.

Polly counted to ten.

"So, Mal," she said, and swallowed, "care to explain to me why there's suddenly two of you?"


	6. Warning: Mentions Kittens

**Note:** there's something for everyone :D More unresolved issues, a Very Clever Reference to Witches Abroad, and _someone_ ends up naked.

Still all Pratchett's, though. Also, thanks for the lovely feedback so far, it made me happy.

**-**

**Plogviehze, Baby: Chapter 5. In which a cat is mentioned.**

**- **

"Shall I kill that for you?" the man - probably a man - said. You never knew, with vampires.

"That's not funny," said Mal.

"I wasn't joking."

Polly shuddered. There was an edge about this... man, probably... that she couldn't find in Mal, however similar they looked, and she couldn't quite put a finger on that. Well, apart from the death threat he had just uttered, on which she couldn't quite put a finger, either, at least not literally... gah!

"You're missing the context," said Mal. Good old Mal. Polly didn't quite think she deserved all this. _If I were human_, she thought, _I'd be glowing red to my fucking ears. I very nearly killed -_

"... Ah," said the man. He sat down on the bar and got out a cigarette with a holder, lighting up in the same movement. Polly watched Mal eye it with something like detached yearning. "So?" he added.

"So what?" said Mal.

"The context."

"It's difficult," said Mal, cunning deduction personified. "What did you kill that Elissa girl for?"

"Vampire?" suggested the man. The cigarette end glowed red as he sucked in smoke, as elegant as... an actor who played a very elegant person, or something. "The window was open."

Mal raised an eyebrow. "It's the middle of winter."

"Yes," said the man, expression mimicking hers. "I was a bit puzzled myself."

"So, who are you, then?" asked Polly, braver then she felt, but the conversation didn't seem to go anywhere. It felt like a good idea at the time.

The man grinned. "Is it allowed to talk up like that?"

He was aggravating, that was what he was, thought Polly. Possibly, Mal felt the same way.

"Benedict lots of middle names van der Zülln," she said. "My brother."

'The one who can't fly in a straight line?' was the question Polly very nearly blurted out. She was glad she didn't, as she was clearly not very popular with that man.

What she _did_ blurt out, though, was, "Pink blankets or blue?" In a world gone completely mad, she had to hold on to the constants in her life.

Now that refined eyebrow lift was directed at her. "Black, actually," said Benedict, "but don't you think you're being awfully forward?"

"Whoops," said Polly. "Force of habit. Um."

She saw Mal hiding a small smile. "What kind of idiotic name would 'Benedicta' be?" asked Mal.

"To be entirely faithful to the truth," said Polly, whose frontal cortex seemed to have curled up and died, "I always thought 'Maladicta' sounded a wee bit silly. Um. I'll just go stand in that corner over there, yes?"

Mal laid a hand on her arm before she could move. "Benedict, meet Oliver Perks. My sergeant."

Another taxing look. _"Oliver?"_

He really looked a lot like Mal, Polly thought, all short and thin and dark-eyed. It was also the same black hair, only somewhat longer, and the same deranged bar chanteuse voice, only... not nice. Not that Mal was what the casual observer would call nice, unless you defined nice as 'probably not quite dangerous to public safety', with a big fat 'um' tagged on the end.

Polly sighed. "Polly, actually. Is this a vampire thing?"

There was a "No."

There was a "Yes!"

"It's a Mal thing, really," said Benedict, who may or may not have been gambling to have the last word.

"I am sure I do not know what you mean," said Mal edgily.

Polly didn't, either. Absolutely. She was pampering her naivety like a strange and fragile plant that'd got all yellow 'round the leaves.

Um.

"What are you doing here?" asked Mal, after a moment. "It's winter, shouldn't you be in Borogravia?"

"Visiting our mother," said Benedict. "You know that she permanently moved into Kone Castle?"

"Bit hard to keep track," said Mal, "what with no-one actually talking to me." She was leaning against the bar now, looking very, very tired all of a sudden. "Polly, can I trust you to make some coffee without burning down the inn?" She thought about that for a while. "Or by all means, burn down the inn if you absolutely must."

"'Course, back in a minute," said Polly, a bit indignant about being sent away but also very, very glad to be able to retreat. She left the kitchen door slightly open, because no-one had actually said she wasn't supposed to listen, yes -?

There was still some wood stacked next to the fireplace, and she soon found matches and a kettle, trying not to make too much noise.

"So, can you trust her to make coffee?" she heard Benedict's muffled voice. "You know, I'm not trying to be all protective, but she could put anything in there."

"She won't," said Mal. "She might have some unresolved issues right now, but poisoning isn't her style, really."

"... Unresolved issues," her brother repeated. "That's one way of putting it, I suppose. How's the League doing?"

There was silence from Mal, and a chuckle - the bastard! - from Benedict.

"You know," he continued, "that's really unexpected. Biting little girls now, Mal? Isn't that rather leaving the moral high grounds?"

"It's more complicated than that," said Mal. "Speaking of moral high grounds, Benedict, what the _hell_ are you thinking wearing that? Do you have any idea what the ribbon means to some of us?"

"It makes life so much easier, don't you think?" said Benedict. "That was the first time I wasn't chased out of the village by a horde of pitchfork-wielding pig farmers the moment I set foot there." A pause. "The effect isn't particularly long-lasting, though, for reasons I cannot fathom."

"You complete bastard," said Mal. In the kitchen, there was fervent agreement.

"Loving every minute of it."

That, thought Polly, was the kind of commentary that should get people _flogged_. It was right up there with 'I realise I'm an arsehole, but you've got to admit I'm good at it.'

As she was rummaging through a box, desperately looking for something to grind the coffee beans with, she couldn't quite hear the two of them talking.

There! she thought. A coffee grinder! Solution to all of my problems!

Nearly all of them, at any rate.

"I didn't ask you to go into morals." That was Benedict. "Last thing I heard, you're a soldier now?"

"It's not the same thing," said Mal.

Polly ground the coffee very, very slowly, in order not to miss anything.

Benedict again: "You kill people for a living. So do I. Where's the difference?"

There has got to be a hole in that argument, thought Polly, there just has to be. It's fighting for the greater good, and such.

So what if it turns out to be harder and harder to grasp.

"Look," said Mal, "we've been through this before. We didn't reach a satisfying conclusion. Let me have a smoke?"

There was more hushed conversation, but by now, the water was boiling. Polly spooned the ground coffee into a cup that was at least clean-ish, and poured water over it. She had absolutely no idea how to go about this, and Mal was one of those impossible people who were all for quality with their quantity, but the mixture smelled right and the colour looked sort of familiar, and so it should be okay. She grabbed the steaming cup and was almost at the door when -

"I didn't know she'd change so much," said Mal softly, and Polly stopped mid-stride, straining her ears.

"You're certainly not controlling her very well," said Benedict.

"I'm not controlling her at all," said Mal. "I mean, look at the evidence."

"Damn morals always getting in the way of the fun, eh?" said Benedict, and there was a very unamused silence. "How much did you give her?" he added. "All of it? 'Cause I've got the feeling you might have overdone it. Free will is so overrated these days."

"No," said Mal. "I did not give her _all_ of it. As it were."

A drawn-out sigh that didn't sound _entirely_ theatrical. "You always had a more is more approach to practical vampirism, Mal."

"Thanks for reminding," said Mal. "I regenerate."

More silence, and by now Polly had noticed the coffee cup was kind of burning her hands, and she stepped forward and then -

"Fool," said Benedict softly.

Polly took this moment to leave all that behind her and live in the present, and the present, right now...

... included one complete arsehole, a lot of snow, and her life completely gone to hell. _Unimpressed, universe_, thought Polly. _Unimpressed_.

That was when Benedict looked up, took a drag of his cigarette, and winked at her.

"So, is the withdrawal death toll still at fifty per cent or did they think of something clever by now?" he asked, louder now. The malice would have been dripping, if it had had the capacity to do so.

All right. It was _on_.

"You kinda failed to mention that, Mal," said Polly. "Coffee's up, by the way," she added, but her heart wasn't in it.

"Thank you so very much," said Mal, taking the coffee out of Polly's suddenly unsteady hands. She took a sip, and hardly screwed up her face while she did so, so the coffee must have passed some kind of quality test.

"I heard they have some kind of safety measures now," she added, finally. "They work. No-one dies much. On account of the immortality thing." Mal was glaring at Benedict as she said that, which did nothing to improve Polly's mood.

"So, Benedict," said Mal, "why have you been following us?"

Benedict tried to look innocent, and failed spectacularly. "I haven't," he said, despite the evidence.

"Polly here has seen you at least three times. Why?"

"Well," turning the cigarette holder in his hands, clearly enjoying Mal's wistful fixation on it, "there's some kind of family gathering up at the castle. Our mother feels it's time to -"

"I'm not available," said Mal.

"But everyone's coming!"

"That's supposed to be a good thing how?"

"Look, Mal," there was a pause, a ruffling of hair - it still lay flat afterward, Polly noticed without surprise -, "this is kind of, ah, your only chance to make up. At this moment, our mother's perfectly willing to talk to you."

"Benedict," said Mal, with a sigh, "this is really not the time -"

"What better time is there?" asked Benedict. "You stay for a day, have everyone admire your, ah, charming company, let them believe you're not all that reformed after all, and then you two leave for Ankh-Morpork. Please?"

"That would be lying," said Mal.

"No. It would be making an effort. Everyone's got to make an effort."

"Well, I won't," said Mal. "Tell Mother I'm terribly sorry I can't come, but I've got more important things on my mind."

"Mal," said Benedict, a knowing smile on his lips, "he's not going to be there."

"Who?" asked Polly, always headfirst into the difficult. The siblings looked at her in a way that made Polly feel as if she had stepped onto a frozen lake intending to do a shortcut and just now found out it really wasn't such a good idea after all.

"Our father," said Mal after a moment of entirely uncomfortable silence. Then she turned back to Benedict, and added, "So do I look like I care?"

"Well, _actually_ -," began Benedict, studying Mal in much the same way as Mal had been studying, well, everyone else for as long as Polly had known her. Something about that was quite satisfying.

Mal's face was perfectly blank as she stared back. A pause, and, "Why?"

"I believe he got eaten by a cat," said Benedict off-handedly. "Are you coming now?"

"Eaten by a _what?_"

"Cat," said Benedict. "You know, four-legged, fluffy, charming. Taste a bit funny, though."

Mal whistled softly. "Now that's a new one," she said. "Any chance he's going to rise again?"

"Not this time, I don't think."

"Good," said Mal.

Good, thought Polly. _Good?_ What kind of family was that? She got the not talking to one another, because these things happened, she got the not keeping track, because the Borogravian postal service was shaky even if you didn't live in a tent, but she didn't get the 'good', and she didn't particularly want to, either.

"We're not coming, though," said Mal, between long sips of coffee. "On account of me being a thoroughly ungrateful and also very reformed disgrace of a - daughter. Now do the civil conversation thing, I've been missing that."

"Okay," said Benedict. "What happened to your hand?"

Mal made a noncommittal gesture with her bandaged right hand. "Silver," she said. "Had a bit of an accident there."

"I see how that kind of thing can happen to you," said Benedict, "but honestly, in the middle of a battlefield? Isn't that taking clumsiness a little bit far?"

Strange. Polly remembered having asked the same question. She had nearly forgot about it.

Mal narrowed her eyes. "How do you know it happened on a battlefield?"

"Just guesswork, Corporal Maladict," said Benedict lightly. "Do take your paranoia elsewhere. How did the silver get there?"

"That _is_ the question, isn't it?" asked Mal quizzically.

Benedict smiled. "I really think you should attend tonight. You might learn a few things." He winked and got up in a fluid motion. "I'll be back at dusk to pick you up _and I'll have a fancy coach_," he said. "Just in case you're tired of walking. Now excuse me, ladies, I'm going to find myself a cellar. Sun's about to rise."

"It's not going to hurt you if you won't let it," said Mal with a faint smile. Benedict took her hand, kissed it lightly.

"Oh yes, it is," he said, and, with a mock salute to Polly and a last swish of the cloak, he was out.

-

The silence lasted all of a minute, until Mal finished her coffee and gloomily watched the grounds as they failed to do anything interesting. Polly didn't dare say a word. Mal could out-gloom _anything_.

"So," Mal said finally.

Polly held her breath. Mal hoisted herself up to sit on the bar, tucking up her legs. She cradled the coffee cup in her arms, maybe for some leftover warmth, maybe not.

"What do you think of him?" she asked.

"He's, well -," said Polly, faintly surprised.

"A cocky bastard," completed Mal. She was shaking her head. "Honestly, the _nerve_."

He's probably cruel to small furry animals, Polly thought.

"Sit."

Polly sat. She didn't feel like being difficult, not now.

"Mal -," she said, and stopped upon noticing that she didn't have the faintest idea of how to go on.

"I think we can stay here for the day after all," said Mal. "Gonna find a kettle and a bathtub and stuff." She yawned. "Gonna be nice here."

_Practical, maybe_, thought Polly, hobby linguist.

"Mal, I believe we have to talk," said Polly. 'Apologise' was so big a word, she wasn't sure she'd get it out right.

"Talk, then," said Mal.

Polly, then, just settled for hiding her head in her hands. How to find the words? How to - Maybe best to start with stating the obvious and work from there.

"You may have noticed I just tried to kill you," she said.

"I did," said Mal, which only fed the surrounding silence.

"So," Polly volunteered, "I should really learn to ask questions first."

"I expect that would be helpful."

Polly groaned inwardly. This was all her own damn fault, she knew, but could Mal try and be a little less condescending?

"Mal, I'm sorry," said Polly. "I don't know why this keeps happening, and it frightens me to death, and -"

"Pol_ly_," said Mal. "Hey. It's okay. Your criminal intent wasn't _that_ convincing."

"No, Mal," said Polly. "You keep telling me it's okay, but it bloody well isn't. You didn't even do anything to stop me."

Mal sucked thoughtfully on her lower lip. "That would be because I needed to find out how far you'd go."

That was unexpected.

"So, how far _would_ I go?" asked Polly, after a while. "See, that question's really quite central to me at the moment."

"First of all," said Mal, "I had my hands free, which you knew, and didn't do anything about, so you couldn't have killed me even if you wanted to."

"That could have just been plain incompetence on my part," said Polly.

"Is that so, _sarge_?" said Mal. "Secondly, the hesitation, which I was rather glad to notice because you really went a lot further than I'd expected."

"... Oh."

"Then again, I have an optimistic worldview," said Mal, shrugging. "Thirdly, all that unnecessary talking and threatening was, considering you're a soldier and know better, really just a way to get me to do something. I hope." Pause. "That line about the fun was just plain nasty, though."

"So you weren't afraid at all?" asked Polly. This talk turned out to be rather surprising, and confusing, and if she didn't feel so awful about everything, she might get angry again. She didn't like that lab rat feeling all that much.

"Oh, I was," said Mal. " I do not take stakes lightly."

Polly didn't answer.

"You know," said Mal softly, "it's telling, the way you interpret things. I mean, I tried to explain to you why I did what I did. Not very successfully, I admit, but at least I used a lot of words. And you take the first chance you see to believe it was out of a common vampire instinct. Out of... hunger." She reached out to touch Polly's cheek. "Why do you think you're food, Polly?"

"Because," said Polly, "you bit me."

A weary glance out of slightly narrowed eyes. "Ah," said Mal, and nothing more.

"It's the truth," said Polly.

The first rays of the morning sun were trickling through the windows, and Mal got up. "But think about it, kid," she said, and wandered off.

-

They had shared dinner - or breakfast, or whatever - in silence. It was potatoes and carrots, mostly, which Polly had cooked in the inn's kitchen until they were slightly softer carrots and potatoes. Nothing spectacular, but she wasn't trusting Mal's cookery, either.

She had also found some rats in the pantry for the necessary, ah, proteins. Which had left her some sanity to look forward to the potatoes, and the carrots, delicious vegetables that they were, seasoned with thyme and onions. Life was good if you had seasoning.

Afterwards, Polly had felt very much like just falling asleep in the one guest room, where they'd found and lit a fireplace. It was warming up pleasantly now, which was slightly strange and, at the same time, the most fantastic thing that had happened to her, ever, and Polly could feel herself getting sleepier by the minute.

Mal, however, had dragged a wooden bathtub into the room. She rather insisted on hygiene. Hygiene right now.

"Remind me again why you joined the army," Polly said as she lay sprawled over the bed, trying not to fall asleep too obviously while Mal was melting the second pot full of snow over the fireplace.

She also had soap. Nuggan knew how she'd found that.

"I didn't know about the hygienic standards, or lack thereof," said Mal. "I mean, I did expect at least some kind of godawful community showers, although, given the sock situation, those'd probably not have been appreciated by all."

"Showers?" asked Polly in mild confusion. "As in, rain?"

"As in a watering can strapped to the ceiling," said Mal. "Well, it's a bit more advanced than that, but that's the general idea. Saw those in Ankh-Morpork."

The room was filling with steam. Mal hoisted the pot over to the bathtub, which contained somewhat colder water, and tipped it over. A fresh cloud of vapor rose. She stuck her hand into the tub.

"Perfect," she said dreamily. With just about the right amount of ceremony, Mal dropped the whole bar of soap into the water.

Polly watched.

"You're a foam kinda girl, right?" she asked, half-noticing how slurred her speech had become. Sleep couldn't be that far away.

"Absolutely," said Mal, and slipped out of her clothes, just like that.

Damn, thought Polly. How fast am I supposed to move? It was an idle thought, seeing as she hadn't attempted to move at all. Or shut her eyes, as she realised just then.

She did shut her eyes now, and waited for the various watery sounds to stop. At least, Mal went about this in a fairly... ladylike way, if that word could be applied. There wasn't much sloshing and splashing, one had to be thankful for that.

Also, Polly was very awake now.

When she opened her eyes again, it was all a bit more bearable. She saw black hair poured over the rim of the bathtub, a hint of pale angular shoulders. Mal's face, in profile, was half obscured by steam. She wore an expression that Polly could only describe as soap-induced bliss.

_Well_, thought Polly, _bathing is nice, after all_. She was feeling a bit grimy herself, but was soldier enough to not let that distract her further from sleeping.

Er.

Mal looked over to her, and gave her a crooked grin. Polly looked away. She was so not watching. There wasn't anything to be seen, right?

Right.

"You know, I've been thinking," said Polly.

Mal was doing things with a washcloth. "What about?" she asked.

Polly had to very firmly shut up a few opinions on that matter.

"I think we could afford it," she said carefully.

"Afford what?"

"Staying at the castle for a day," said Polly into what was very suddenly a very disconcerting sort of silence. "No, listen, Mal. When was the last time you saw any of them?"

"Just now," said Mal. "Isn't that enough?"

But Polly had seen Mal embracing her brother. It wasn't _very_ normal Mal behaviour, so certainly this had to mean something?

"I mean before that, obviously," she said.

"Been a few years," said Mal. "Look, they're not big on Black Ribboners. Can't imagine anyone changed their mind."

"Don't you miss them at all?" asked Polly.

"Pol_ly_ -"

"Don't 'Polly' me, and especially don't stress the second syllable like that, because that's been annoying me for _years_," said Polly. "Just give me a straight answer, and then we can go spend tonight in great heaps of snow, if that takes your fancy. Do you miss them?"

"Look, you met Benedict on a charming day and you still don't like him," said Mal, and thought, and added, "Well, you do not like him, don't you?"

"Er," said Polly. She had always been told not to talk badly about other people's relatives, and yet... "No, I don't, actually. Sorry."

"The rest are _worse_," said Mal.

"Um," said Polly.

"And that's why we're not going."

A definite splashing sound could be heard as she resolutely took up the washing business again.

"Ah, but you do like him, do you?" asked Polly. "He's right, you know. This is your chance to just go there, make a good impression, say hello to dear old mum and leave again. Everyone's happy, and maybe you could drop in for a tea and biscuit from time to time. That's what family is all about, isn't it?"

Mal was rubbing her face vigorously with a soaked washcloth, murmuring something that sounded suspiciously like 'tea and biscuit, my _arse_.' Polly disregarded it.

"And I can go around and tell everyone how very mysterious and charming and darkly enchanting I think you are," continued Polly.

"If it was mysterious and charming," said Mal. "Batshit crazy, more like. Fainting all the time. I'm a girl, remember?"

Given the circumstances, Polly wasn't likely to forget.

"I could tell them how good you look in underwired nightdresses," she said, and blushed. "Of course, that would be a downright lie -"

"You mean I don't -" began Mal in a mock-offended tone.

"Never seen you in one, is what I was going to say," said Polly. "Anyway, sometimes a well-crafted lie is better to glue, you know, family ties than brutal honesty all the time."

"And there I was thinking I was the suave and smug bastard," said Mal. "You make it sound like I have the social grace of our friend Mr. Pitchfork."

Polly shrugged. "I just think you need an outside opinion from time to time," she said.

Mal sighed.

"It's a castle full of unreformed vampires," she said. "How well do you think you'll be able to deal with that?"

"There are not actually any humans about, are there?" said Polly.

"No," murmured Mal. "Only pets."

She drew a deep breath and let herself slip fully into the water; at least, that was what the sound suggested. Polly swallowed. There did not seem to be enough space for Mal's legs in the tub, so she bent them at the knees, propping the soles of her feet on the rim of the tub.

She stayed like that for a longer time than was strictly considered healthy. Polly did try to fall asleep in the meantime, because she wasn't a peeking kind of girl, but it proved impossible. The lack of sound was unsettling.

She got up, more out of worry than anything else, and tip-toed over to where the bathtub stood, until she caught herself and walked normally. She wasn't trying to sneak, after all.

Mal's hand on the rim was so very pale and still.

Polly took some time to look at it. The bandage was gone. She could see something dark behind slightly bent fingers, and, following some instinct or other, she took Mal's hand gently, in order not to startle her. It was cool despite the heat of the bath, and she turned it over to get a clear view of the palm.

The wounds seemed barely healed, which was strange even for silver burns, as Polly understood. And then there was the general pattern - a long burn across the palm, several others on all fingers...

This had most certainly not been an accident. This had been someone holding something in a tight grip -

Mal didn't react at all.

Slightly unsettled, Polly sat down next to the bathtub. Traced Mal's thin wrist with her thumb and noticed the complete absence of a pulse. She risked a glance over the rim, saw foam, and a few strands of black hair floating, and not much else.

"Mal," she said, forcing herself to sound calm, "come up. This is seriously uncool."

There was a slight stir in the water. There was nothing more.

"Mal, come _up_," said Polly, tugging at her hand, trying not to touch her more than necessary. "You are," _scaring me_, "drowning." She thought about that, and added, "Or at least faking it very well."

Mal was jerking up, gasping for air. "'m not drowning," she said. "'m a bloody vampire." _Still_, thought Polly, _you are breathing heavily, and coughing, and I damn well hope you've got soap in your eyes._

"But, you know, thanks for the thought," said Mal, "I appreciate it. Let go of my hand?"

"Why?" said Polly. She could feel a faint pulse now. So much for sanity.

A pause. "Because you're hurting me."

Polly hadn't considered this. She let go in an instant, as if burned herself.

"Sorry," she said. Pause. "What the hell was that about? Needed a moment to remember the grave, or something?"

"Nah," said Mal, "needed a moment to think, is all."

"What about?"

Mal shrugged. "Things," she said. "You can get pretty abstract when you're playing dead."

"Ah."

Polly noticed just now that she was kneeling next to the tub now, impossibly close to Mal, who was rubbing her eyes - ha! - and possibly still trying to regain composure. There was something to be said about Mal, thought Polly, when she was wet, she was wet, just like a cat. Just like Polly, who had been Dripped On.

Blushing again. There just seemed to be no end of that when Mal was your company.

"Don't," said Mal.

"Don't what?" asked Polly.

"Don't get all embarrassed like that," said Mal, reaching out for a towel behind Polly.

"Don't drip water all over me, how 'bout that?"

Towel temporarily abandoned, Mal's left hand briefly tugged at a tendril of Polly's hair, which was, Polly thought, all uncombed and grimy and not up to vampire standards at all.

"Has to happen one of these days," said Mal. "You know, the bathtub is your friend." A sharp smile, and then Polly's vision shifted.

She blinked, and there went the images again. Floorboards covered in white snow, bathwater running red, slashing and screaming and teeth and claws that she didn't remember she had. Pity Mal was so damn immortal, but -

- she was sure she could work her way around that -

Bugger.

_How to drown out the screams how to to drown out -_

She looked into Mal's eyes, and there, at least, she found something that was only slightly less scary, but at least familiar and so she leaned into a kiss she would forever deny she had started.

It did drown out the screams.

Also, it was soapy, and water dripped everywhere, and Mal was almost distractingly good at what she was doing, and there was a definite and very reassuring lack of blood. Polly wondered whether Mal had seen all of this, whether this had been a contagious vampire hallucination or merely everyday insanity due to a certain overexposure to battlefields in her life.

Mal's still cool hand settled on the back of her neck, and there was the sound of water dripping, and something about that was unsettling. It made Polly stop for just a moment, and then, another kiss to the corner of Mal's mouth, and drifting off from there, the taste of soap and skin, and it still felt right, if a little wet.

She felt Mal tilting her head just a tiny little bit upwards, and Polly's fingers traced the curve of her jaw, and then she lay a kiss on the soft skin below, determined to make this good. There was blood pulsating just under her mouth, oh _dear_.

Polly stopped. She felt like she had passed a test.

Come to think of it -

"Y'know, Polly -," said Mal, and she sounded very different from normal.

"Yes?" said Polly.

"I've got to know these things. Sorry, Polly."

"Know what?" asked Polly.

""So," said Mal. "What the hell was that about?"

"Er," said Polly. Mal was retreating already, hugging herself in the water. "Come to think of it," she added, "I have no idea. You liked it."

"Not the point," said Mal.

When had they gone from things being Mal's fault to things being Polly's fault, and had they ever been even, somewhere along the way? She'd have liked to punch Mal, now, but realised it was pointless. Mal didn't say a word.

"I mean," began Polly, and stopped, and tried again. "What the hell happened to your self-confidence? Clearly that was about being helplessly in love with your wonderful personality and satisfactory outward appearance. Yes?"

"Polly," said Mal. "You've been pointing _stakes_ at me."

"One stake," said Polly, but her voice was softer already, "You know that I'm really sorry about this."

"Yes," said Mal. "How sorry, exactly?"

"I'm not trying to make up for anything, if that's what you think," said Polly. "And I realise that was probably not the most diplomatic thing to say, but, well -"

Mal looked down, shaking her head slightly. "This is so not the time."

There was a lot of silence. Polly contemplated things. When she was done contemplating, she said,

"Would I know if you controlled me?"

"No," said Mal. "What, exactly, are you implying?"

Polly shrugged. "My turn to make accusations," she said.

So she hadn't exactly known what she'd been implying, but in the lengthy pause that followed she came to the conclusion that the universe could go screw itself for all she cared.

"One has got to know these things, Mal," she said, fighting for a light and conversational tone and failing spectacularly, "So, am I under your control, then?"

"That coffee you made," said Mal, "was the worst bloody coffee ever that wasn't made from acorns. So your point is - ?"

"Coffee's not a matter of life or death, though," said Polly.

"Ha," said Mal. "Not my life or death, you mean."

She reached for a towel on the floor, rising from the bathtub and wrapping herself in the towel in a distinctly nonexhibitionistic way, Polly was glad to notice. She still turned around to allow her the privacy to dress.

"Mal?" she volunteered, after a while.

"Yeah?"

"You could do it, right?"

A sigh. "Do what?"

"Control me," said Polly. "And don't look at my back like that. I know something about vampire folklore."

"Define 'could'," said Mal. "'Could', as in, could I rip your head off with my bare hands? 'Could', as in, could I just say, 'screw bloody coffee, it's bodily juices from now on'? It's pretty theoretical, your 'could'."

"But you could," said Polly, "theoretically. And I wouldn't know."

Great. An identity crisis. Just what she needed.

"But I don't," said Mal. "It's a choice. And I don't think it'd work if I tried, 'cause of all the blood that was passed back and forth -,"

"Ick," said Polly.

"It might be you controlling me," said Mal. "Just a thought."

Afterwards, when Mal had wandered off to find a nice spot to hang down from somewhere else, Polly managed to get some direly needed cleaning up done herself, acquire a night shirt from the laundry room, and sink into the bed like a sackful of kittens sank into a river, which was a dreadful analogy if she thought about it.

But accurate all the same. It had been that kind of night.


	7. All of It

**Note: **So we had threatened murder, and we had attempted murder. What's missing?

**- **

**Plogviehze, Baby: Chapter 6. In which there is completed murder.  
**

**_-_**_  
_

_Open her up, make her scream, paint the walls with red -_

"Polly!"

"Ngk."

"Pollyyy!"

Polly desperately turned over. She bumped against someone.

"Wake up!"

"S'ill brigh' ou'side," she mumbled. It was. Also, there appeared to be a vampire sitting on her bed.

Slippery dream fabric slid off her like a dress as Polly pried her eyes open.

"Yeah, well, that's the point," said Mal, who looked thankfully whole.

"Oh, that," said Polly, slowly propping herself up and rubbing her eyes. She was not a morning person. Or evening person. Or late afternoon person, right now. Gah!

"... Shit," she added.

"What is it?" asked Mal.

"I think," said Polly, trying to concentrate. "I _think_," trying again, "I just killed you. In my dream."

"In your dream," said Mal, and paused, and added, "Best place for it, I suppose. How much blood?"

"Jus' a nigh'mare," mumbled Polly, her head sinking back onto the pillow. "Doesn't r'lly matter. Yes?"

"How much?"

Polly rubbed her eyes again, as the images faded. She felt slightly thankful for that.

"All of it," she said. "Since you asked. Have we d'cided onna d'cision yet?" she added, looking over to Mal. "Dammit, 's that frost on your coat?"

"Attic turned out to be a bit windy," said Mal. "And I think we agreed on spending the night in big heaps of snow, which is why I am waking you at this godawful hour." She was tying a fresh strip of cloth around her hand. Polly couldn't help but notice that it had a nice pattern of flowers.

"You couldn't sleep," said Polly, to whom the idea of big heaps of snow was, at this moment, somewhat unappealing.

"That's not entirely incorrect," said Mal. "Get up. I'd like us to leave before dusk."

"Don't you want to tell your brother we're not coming?"

"I'd rather not."

"And anyway," added Polly, "I said I was okay with staying there for a night. You know, maybe they've got coffee you can nick."

"Doubt it," said Mal. "Look, you don't know them. I do. Can we just trust my judgment here?"

"C'mere," said Polly. "Like that." She slid the icy coat off Mal's shoulders and draped her still warm blanket over her instead, noticing Mal was shivering with leftover attic cold.

"Polly, I don't think -" she began.

"I'm not doing anything," said Polly. "Warmer now? Great. Listen to me. I think we should go. That way, if they turn out to be stuck-up, aristocratic sociopaths, you can at least claim you tried. If you don't, the blame'll always be on you, 'cause you're the minority. And I can tell you miss them."

"I miss having a family," said Mal. "'s not the same."

"It's even in our direction," said Polly. "See, I'm perfectly able to look out of a window. That great black mountain far down the valley, right?" She was totally working on assumptions here, but she couldn't imagine any vampire family not building their castle on any damn mountain if a higher one was around somewhere.

"Right," said Mal. "We can walk farther than that in one night."

"Yes, but that doesn't really matter," said Polly. " Because there's no way we'll get to Ankh-Morpork in time, right?"

Polly had expected a 'yes', had hoped for a 'no'. She hadn't expected Mal to just admit defeat, letting herself sink to the side and wrapping the blanket tighter around herself.

"Fine," Mal said into the pillow. "Let's just visit my old mum. 's gonna be fun."

A 'yes', then.

"Only if you want to," said Polly to her back. It was all about choice, right?

Except for her, but -

"I don't particularly want to, no," said Mal. "I just figure I'll get this over with. And then, Ankh-Morpork. I guess it's a week from here. Less if we had a coach and horses."

Polly frowned. "But we do not have a coach and horses."

"Yes," said Mal. "But I figured, if we can't nick any coffee -"

"Mal," said Polly, "nicking a coach and horses does not count as a way of making up with your family."

"Just if the making up fails," said Mal. "Wouldn't dream of it, otherwise."

Polly thought.

"Y'know, if the villagers left their cattle behind -"

"I thought of that, too, but they gotta have left on something," said Mal. "Hard to ride a cow, really. Or a sheep." She sounded sleepy. "Or a chicken. Or a donkey."

"'s not hard to ride a donkey," said Polly.

"Mh."

"Look, how serious are you about this getting up business?" asked Polly, because while getting back to sleep sounded like the best thing ever, getting back to sleep next to Mal, though, who had stubbornly spent the day hanging upside down from some rafter in a freezing attic, and also took up the whole of the blanket, sounded entirely unmanageable.

"'m cold," mumbled Mal. "'m thoroughly un-mo-ti-va-ted."

"Sleep, then," said Polly. "I'll try and see what we can take with us, shall I?"

Mal mumbled something.

"I didn't quite catch that," said Polly. "Mal?"

"Make me coffee?" said Mal. "Big cup, only with a bit more coffee and a bit less water this time?"

Polly paused, and said: "So am I your official coffee engine now?"

"Well, old one did get stomped, y'know, and the foldaway thing is a bit of a joke," said Mal. "'s a honour, really. I do not choose my coffee engines lightly."

Polly sort of patted her hair a bit.

"And," said Mal, "I could be persuaded to get up and help you, if you just bring me coffee. Please."

-

Polly figured that Mal probably needed the sleep, and so she took her time to get dressed and do some necessary looting in the laundry room before descending to the bar.

She felt a little nervous. Something was wrong. Not quite wrong in the 'there's a manic axe murderer standing in the doorway' sense, just -

Something was wrong with the silence. Something was definitely wrong with the silence. She looked around for obvious clues, but there turned out to be a distinct lack of obvious clues.

Kitchen. Coffee. Coffee grinder. No going back upstairs, she wasn't five, and while it was sort of dim down here, she had good night vision. She still lit up a few candles.

Grinding the coffee and getting the snow from the outside and melting it in the kettle at least distracted her from the curious silence. And it took so long. The kettle was icily cold, so was the snow - no, really -, so was the kitchen until she finally managed to make fire. It all took so long, and still no obvious clue, no clue at all.

Some fair amount of noise from upstairs disrupted her. Good morning, Mal, Polly thought, and answered it with some noise of her own. Gonna pack some potatoes, gonna pack some onions, gonna pack the sorry remains of the coffee beans. Can't be hard.

More noise.

I'm going upstairs, thought Polly, I'm going upstairs, and then she thought, but the coffee is almost done. Water was boiling. She poured it over the coffee powder, and the scent of Midnight Surprise rose up. She almost sneezed.

Surprise...

Polly spun around a fraction of a second before the kitchen door was opened, coffee cup raised. Never underestimate the impact of boiling hot beverages, she thought, and then-

"You," she said, breathing some relief. Not the face she wanted to see, but close enough.

"Polly, wasn't it?" said Benedict. "What kind of orgy's this supposed to be?"

"Er," said Polly. "Huh? No orgy here, I don't think."

"So those two guys that just happened to sneak out of the back door just brought the mail, did they?"

Very carefully, Polly set down the coffee cup. Throwing it in Benedict's face would have been a waste of nice porcelain, really.

"Couldn't you have asked them?" she asked, clearly running on autopilot here. The missing clue, the missing clue...

"I don't think they were in the mood, really," said Benedict with as much innocence as the implication could possibly allow. "Where's Mal?"

"Sleeping," said Polly, already rushing past Benedict and out of the kitchen. The missing clue... the missing _stake_ -

"Going upstairs now," said Polly. "Come with me or stay. This is not good."

"Yes, I gathered as much," said Benedict, trailing after her, and still faster. How did he do it? Staircase, corridor, door.

Door.

"What's this?" said Polly, stopping mid-stride. There was a faint scent in the air, clinging and sweet -

Benedict pushed the door open. "You'll get used to it," he said.

_No, I don't think I want to, thanks_, thought Polly, stepped through the doorframe, and then -

"What a bloody set of amateurs," she heard Benedict say. "Try not to breathe -"

"C-can't -" said Polly. To hard to try anything in here. She felt like collapsing. Not on, she thought, not on.

"Polly?" she heard Benedict say. "Get yourself together. It's okay. Nobody ever remembers they gotta cut off the head as well. I need you here."

"What for?" asked Polly. She wanted, very much, to just turn and run, now if she could only remember how to move -

"I need you to hold her down while I pull out the stake," said Benedict. "You'll never know for sure what comes back."

A faint sound of defeat escaped Polly's throat.

"Besides, I'd hazard a guess at Mal," said Benedict. "Things only get really nasty if you leave them for too long."

"If that's your idea of comforting," said Polly, "you _fail_."

Benedict sighed in a sophisticated manner. "Now, Polly. I'm not enjoying this any more than you are."

Polly said down on the bed next to Mal, resting her hand's on Mal's shoulders. They were icily cold, and she wasn't breathing. _They must have caught her sleeping_, she thought. _The room looks quite intact. It wouldn't if Mal had had the chance to put up a fight._

"Ready?" asked Benedict. He wasn't actually looking at her, Polly noticed, but at some point behind her. She nodded and tried to look elsewhere, not at Benedict, who lay one hand flat on Mal's chest and pulled with the other.

There was a -

I'm going to join the Klatchian Foreign Legion, Polly thought. Anything to forget this sound.

It took the time of a heartbeat, and then Mal jerked up, drawing breath like she had never breathed before. A scream, then silence, and more breathing. Polly did her best to steady her. It didn't quite work, Mal was shaking so badly.

"Hold on to her arms," said Benedict.

He leaned forward and placed one hand under Mal's chin, pushing her head upwards.

"Open your eyes, Mal?" he suggested.

When that didn't happen, Benedict cupped her face in his hand, lightly trailing a thumb over her closed eyelid, then pulled it open.

He whistled softly.

Mal opened her mouth. A hint of teeth and Polly felt her strain forward -

In the blink of an eye, Benedict had covered her mouth with one wrist. He smiled, Polly noticed.

"Bite away, young Ribboner," he said, and his smile hardly faltered when Mal did as she was told. He did pull his arm away after a few seconds, covered in less blood than Polly thought probable and already healing, and even then Mal was just staring off into the distance, still showing no sign that she was really here at all.

Polly gave Benedict a questioning look. He shrugged.

"Dying's never fun," he said.

"She didn't die!" said Polly. She felt the warmth coming back to Mal's body. Close call, maybe, but still -

"I did," said Mal, her voice faint and her breathing still ragged, but calmer. "Gods, I'm never going to get used to this."

"Nice to have you back," said Polly. She could feel tears welling up. But she _was_ a soldier and she _wouldn't_ cry, not when everyone else didn't. Awful awful awful.

"My pleasure, I assure you," said Mal. She raised a hand to her lips, and startled visibly when her fingers came away red. "Oh dear," she said. "Was that really necessary, Benedict?"

"Your eyes," said Benedict, "were glowing red. Somehow I don't think you eat right, kid."

"That's what Mum said," said Mal. "You, thankfully, are not Mum, so do cut back on the dietary advice."

Benedict shrugged. "So how is the old guy?"

"Still lacking in social skills," murmured Mal. "I don't think he likes me."

"Lemme guess," said Benedict. "He's moaning again about how he needs to take on an apprentice because this kind of thing is beneath him."

"Something like."

"Er," said Polly. "Who?"

"The reaper man," said Benedict. "Surely you've met him?"

"It's a personified metaphorical thingy," said Polly, who wasn't feeling wordy. "A story for children. It's not real."

She received a glare of the stranger sort. "I don't get humans," said Benedict. "What kind of stories do they tell their children?"

"At least we don't subject them to _The Amazing Adventures of Bobby the Brave Bat_," said Polly. "Or whatever passes for children's literature in your circles."

"Hey, that was my _favourite_," said Benedict.

On a general note, Polly thought, vampires shouldn't be allowed to pout like that.

"He's standing right behind you, Pol," said Mal.

"Come on," said Polly. "Wazzer tried that trick on me. I'm not going to fall for it again." She was so not going to turn around. Someone had to stay sane in this mess.

Mal looked at Benedict, who shrugged. There was the tiniest flicker of blue light, but Polly had the denial thing up and running, so -

"Fine," said Mal. "Bring me coffee."

"Er," said Polly. "It's probably cold by now."

"... And?"

"All right," said Polly. "Benedict?"

Benedict smiled. It was a crooked smile, and he looked too much like Mal when he did that. "Back in a minute," he said, and vanished with a swirl of his black cloak.

"What happened, Mal?" asked Polly, when they were alone.

"Oh, I'm not sure," said Mal, "but I think I got killed."

Polly paused, and thought, and then ceased thinking. "Well, yes, that one's obvious," she said. "Here, let me clean you up."

She let go of Mal, hesitantly, and went to fetch the bowl of water she'd used this morning. She dipped the washcloth in.

"I'll just leave the coffee here, shall I?" said a voice from the doorframe. Mal jumped, and Polly was quite a bit surprised herself, but it was only Benedict.

"No, just give it to me and wait outside, or something," said Mal, and took the cup into shaking hands. "Ah, lukewarm sandy water. Polly, I've got to teach you the art of filtering."

"Yes," said Polly. "Definitely. Uh, later. Benedict, can you try and find some clean clothes in the laundry room? Just put them in front of the door."

"Am I chambermaid now? Great."

"I rather thought you vampires are into that kind of thing," said Polly, who was getting Fed Up. "See if you can find an apron and bonnet for yourself while you're at it."

"Huh," said Benedict. "Honestly, a bonnet?"

Mal winced, and glared. "Hurts to laugh," she said through clenched teeth. "Get _out_, Benedict."

There was soft laughter, a murmur along the lines of "Do your bonding, then", and the door closed.

Polly noticed Mal was maintaining a rather unsteady grip on the coffee cup, and took it from her hands, raising it to Mal's lips. She was surprised Mal allowed this.

For all she complained, Mal drank the coffee in one go, as if her life depended on it. Which, Polly thought, might possibly have been the case.

Bonding. Ha.

"Done now?" she asked. Mal nodded. "Hold still, then."

Slowly and with trembling fingers, Polly unbuttoned Mal's ripped and blood-stained shirt, and thought. And said. "You know, that's strange."

"What exactly?" asked Mal.

"There's no way they didn't notice you're a girl," said Polly, not bothering to blush, "and thus, probably not Mr. van der Zülln. As it were. Although I agree that vampires are somewhat -"

"That's humans for you," said Mal. The shirt slid off her shoulders.

Polly tried not to breathe too much. It was hard. All the blood -

Mal closed her eyes, and opened them again. "Let me do that," she said. "Feeling better, really." She took the washcloth from Polly's unresisting hands and pressed it against her chest. Mal was good at acting, as far as Polly was any judge; only a soft hiss escaped her lips.

"Yeah, right," said Polly. "Once you're over being brave, you can let me help you."

"Nah, it's all right," said Mal. "Really. I just think you shouldn't -"

Polly glanced over.

"- look," finished Mal.

"You're not trying to be modest, are you?" asked Polly, before her brain had wrapped itself around what she'd seen.

Mal snorted. "Modest," she said, with the air of someone who found an obscure entry in their vocabulary and weren't quite sure how it got there.

There was a pause.

"Doesn't seem to heal over all that well," volunteered Polly finally.

"Some things just take longer, is all," said Mal.

Another pause. "So why's there two wounds?"

"Gotta find the heart first," said Mal. "I mean, these guys weren't trained assassins. Slaughtered a pig for Hogswatchnight, at the most."

"Strange," said Polly.

"Whatever you're thinking now, please stop," said Mal. "It's okay."

"You must have had plenty of time to fight back," said Polly.

"I was sleepy. And confused. And half dreaming. And in a lot of pain," said Mal. and dropped the washcloth into the bowl. "Done," she added. Bring me something to wear?"

Polly shrugged, and went to get a clean shirt from outside. She heard Mal breathing out in relief. Ha. She grabbed the small clothes pile out of Benedict's hands.

"You listening or something?" she asked.

Benedict shrugged. "I'd never. Gonna wait downstairs, shall I?"

"You bet," said Polly, and watched him get down the stairs before turning around. He waved at her from the lower landing.

Bastard bastard bastard.

"So, Mal," said Polly, reentering the guest room "Confused, eh?"

"Yes," said Mal. "I'd also like to point out that I'm half naked and in a bed and, as a vampire, generally susceptible to the influence of narrativity, so you might want to give me something to put on before I go all cheap romance novel on you."

Polly raised an eyebrow. "Are you aiming to interrupt my train of thought, woman?"

"Of course," said Mal. "Woman."

"You're not being very subtle."

"I just _died_," said Mal. "You try being subtle after you've spent half an hour in conversation with the reaper man. The guy's about as subtle as a really fucking unsubtle brick wall."

Polly helped her into a woolly sort of shirt. It was checkered and scratchy and all kinds of awful and Mal still made it fit her. Astonishing, really.

"You thought it was me, didn't you?" asked Polly.

"Gonna look like a woodcutter," said Mal. "What's with these things, eh? Flannel?" Polly had to admit, even as far as warm underwear went, they had discovered a new low.

"Lovely to keep you warm," said Polly. "Now, don't try to change the topic, else I'm going to have a crisis. Involving you and quite possibly a large blunt object."

"I did think think it was you," said Mal, looking at her in an earnest sort of way. "For a very terrible and very confused second, I thought it was you attacking me, and that's why I didn't fight back."

Even though Polly had expected something like this, she didn't quite know how to react. She settled for, "Oh."

"Exactly. I was a bit shocked myself."

"You know I would never do that, right?" said Polly, and then considered the evidence, and shut up.

"Not while I'm sleeping, at least," said Mal. She got up from the bed, a bit unsteady still, but she was standing, and then, walking, and it was good.

"I think I'll have that crisis right now, anyway, only maybe without the large blunt object," said Polly. _Not while she's sleeping?_

"I'm with you on the crisis," said Mal. "I hate dying. A lot. Rather makes you bring out the black eyeliner."

Polly thought about it, and gave up. This sentence posed a question, and the question was -

"... What?"

"Crisis. Gotta look the part. Old vampire proverb," said Mal.

"Can I please just hug you?" asked Polly. "That's how I normally deal with crisis...es. Crisises?"

"Crises, actually," said Mal. "Plural of crisis. Really important word to know if you want to make a career in the Borogravian army - hey!"

You talk too much, thought Polly faintly, and hugged her, carefully. There were some tears involved on Polly's part, but that was all right if the exchange involved Mal being alive. Really.

"You know, Polly," said Mal, after nearly thirty seconds of not arguing at all, "I think I might like you better than eyeliner."

Polly supposed she should have felt honoured. However, was thinking of crises, plural of crisis.

"How many times have you - ?" Polly had never ever thought that a question like this was even grammatically possible. It was. That couldn't be legal.

"Second time with a stake," said Mal. "Turned to ash a total of nineteen times, though, when I was trying to get used to sunlight. Not pretty. Igor used to be after me with a vial of blood all the time." She paused. "And a dress. It got kinda expensive."

"Wow," said Polly. "Talk about dedicated."

"You know how Igors are," said Mal with a shrug.

Polly was eyeing the front and sleeve of her own shirt with deep suspicion. She would have to get changed again, on account of the blood situation.

This happened rather too often.

"I _was_ talking about you," said Polly. "Damn it, it's a choice between checkered and ruffly now."

"Take ruffly," said Mal. "And if that was a clumsy attempt to flatter me, then consider me flattered. The checkered one has ugly buttons."

Ruffly it is, then, thought Polly. This would be somewhat acceptable if this thing didn't also have polka dots.

Not acceptable on a girl on account of being silly, not acceptable on a girl pretending to be a boy on account of being girly, not acceptable on a vampire on account of having polka dots, and not acceptable on Polly on account of being a ruffly nightmare. Who wore those things?

"You look good in that," said Mal.

"This is an outrageous lie, and you know it," said Polly.

"Well, yes, it is," said Mal. "However, I'd really like us to leave and never come back. Right now. Got everything?"

"The pack's downstairs," said Polly. "Anything else I think we can leave behind. Room's a mess, but I suppose it's justified."

She was quite surprised when Mal took her hand to drag her downstairs and into the night, but considering everything, Polly thought, she could probably live with that.


	8. Smells of Mothballs

**Note: **yesyes, it's Pratchett's. Also: watch the story acquire a _plot_. Heh.**  
**

**- **

**Plogviehze, Baby: Chapter 7. In which Polly and Mal are being cute.  
**

**-**

The coach had turned out to be very fancy indeed, thought Polly, all shiny black paint on the outside, and the inside a deep, plushy red, the kind of red that had connotations to all kinds of sticky liquids. It made her feel distinctly uncomfortable, but she figured, since it had been her who had talked Mal into all of this, she wasn't really in any sort of position where she ought to complain.

Mal was sitting up straight, not leaning against the upholstery in any way, shape or form, which was a shame because it was very good upholstery. If Polly felt uncomfortable, Mal looked the part.

The coachman turned out to look very much like an exaggerated Igorina. His face had bumps on top of bumps. His hair was at least three different shades of grey. His hands were on backwards. It must be the living around vampires, Polly mused, they did tend to make one rather self-conscious about one's looks.

None of the three passengers talked much, although Benedict seemed to be the only one who enjoyed himself somewhat. He kept looking at Polly. It was unsettling.

The coach rumpled on for a while, then stopped.

"We're not there yet, are we?" asked Mal.

"Can't be," said Benedict. "I'll go have a look."

There was talking outside. Out of habit, Polly counted voices: there were four - Benedict, Igor, and two people Polly didn't recognise. They sounded vaguely female and male, respectively, although with vampires...

"Oh, _damn_," said Mal.

"What's up?"

A light smile. It didn't look very happy. "You'll see."

The door swung open with an ominous creaking sound, and a young woman who was probably Polly's age entered. The first thing Polly noticed was a head full of fair hair, round pale blue eyes surrounded by the deepest black, an unreasonable amount of silver jewellery, and a wide smile that looked distressingly - normal.

A human, thought Polly. Is she _mad_?

The woman tried to curtsy in the limited space of the coach, and failed, but she failed in a very dainty way.

"Good evening, gentlemen," she said in Morporkian. "So good of your companion to offer me a lift. Our coach broke down just now. Ronald will see if he can fix it, but," smilesmilesmile, "I doubt it."

Benedict climbed in after her, a smug grin on her face.

"Gentlemen, may I introduce Molly Reed? She likes to be called Hypovolemia, though," he said.

Bastard.

"Hypovolemia, this is my brother Maladict," added Benedict, maybe because he was trying to be nice, maybe because he didn't want to be the one to explain the trousers.

"Charmed," said Mal, taking Molly's offered hand and kissing it lightly with a thoroughly disinterested air. Polly noticed she was carefully avoiding a good dozen silver rings as she did so.

"Maladict and Benedict!" asked Molly. "That's interesting!"

Death by exclamation marks, thought Polly. Forget cats, _that_ is a new one.

"Of course, I am in no position to fathom the sibling dynamics our parents had in mind when they named us," said Benedict, "which is why I won't. Sergeant Oliver Perks of the Borogravian army," he added with a nod to Polly.

_Damn you damn you damn you. We're in bleedin' Zlobenia_, thought Polly.

Molly didn't seem to mind much, and, granted, she didn't look the political type. But here was a Zlobenian human climbing into a coach full of Borogravian _vampires_ and that was, Polly thought, possibly a little unwise.

"Sergeant," said Molly, still smiling and offering her hand. Polly tried to kiss it with the same air of sophisticated boredom that Mal had achieved, but only seemed to be able to conjure her own very special brand of soldier lad nervousness. Oh well.

"'m not in uniform," said Polly, and thought, no, seeing as I'm wearing bleeding _ruffles_ and _polka dots_, what the hell, "just call me Oliver, please."

"Oliver," said Molly and sat down opposite to her. Their knees bumped.

Oh no, not again, thought Polly. What was it with Mollies and her? Polly tried to smile in a 'let me show you my shiny new set of teeth' way and hoped Molly'd get the hint.

Molly didn't, but a sidewards glance revealed that Mal was faintly smiling in a distinctively unsupportive way, vixen that she was.

Polly realised she'd just smiled at a girl who'd renamed herself Hypovolemia, for... someone's sake, and who wore more black eyeliner than could possibly be good for anyone. Oh _damn_.

The coach moved again.

Polly's nervousness was increasing by the minute. She was trying to remember vampire folklore, but all she could recall right now were vague ideas about how things were supposed to go, and these involved flowing dresses, boudoirs bathed in moonlight, curtains playing in the wind. Folk song material, at best. There was something about coaches breaking down -

The road was bumpy, thought Polly, no wonder coaches were breaking down. The night was dark and somewhat stormy, so maybe it _was_ in the best interest of young ladies travelling alone to accept help offered by strangers, even if the strangers had strange teeth.

So?

"So, Benedict, how are the plans for tonight?" asked Mal, finally, after nobody had said a word for quite a long time.

Benedict had been watching Molly, with an expression of - and Polly scolded herself for the thoroughly nausea-inducing metaphor - a cat that had spotted the cream. "The guests are arriving just now," he said. "It'll be leisure time until midnight, then, feast and dance."

"I didn't know it would be this formal," said Mal. "Didn't bring anything fancy to wear, sorry."

"Oh, I am sure something suitable could be organised," said Benedict off-handedly. "Miss Hypovolemia, do stay for the feast. It's such a ghastly night for travelling alone."

"Oh!" said Molly, still smiling and entirely too fond of the vowel 'o'. Possibly she thought it make her look sweetly innocent, or at least as sweetly innocent as one could look while wearing black make up and underwired anything, Polly thought.

What really bugged her was that Molly was so _successful_ in looking sweetly innocent.

"I'd love to stay!" said Molly. "I guess I'm too curious for my own good, huh?"

"On the contrary," said Benedict.

"I think I'm going to be sick," said Mal very, very softly. Only a vampire could have heard her, and only vampires did. Benedict gave her a look that, if it had been a gesture, would have been a pat on the head. Polly stifled a laugh, if only because this situation was entirely too awful not to be amused.

"Er," said Polly. "Miss... Hypovolemia," gotta keep a straight face, gotta keep a... oh shit, "er, do you really think it's wise to travel with a coach full of strangers and accept invitations of, er, possibly questionable sincerity? In the middle of the night?"

There. Someone had to say it. Gotta give the girl a chance, thought Polly. Maybe it was only due to a faulty first impression that she had the feeling Molly was.. maybe not on top of the situation. Or most situations. Ahem.

Then again, maybe not. The girl smiled and said "Oh, but fine gentlemen such as you surely wouldn't pose a threat to helpless young maidens such as myself, Oliver."

Was there a certain hopefulness in her voice?

"Er, of course not," said Polly, "but on a more general note -"

She felt herself nudged. It was Mal, who was leaning over, whispering into her ear.

"You're being a dear, really, but I think you're making matters worse."

Mal smiled at Polly from the side and then, since she was already leaning over, nibbled her ear for emphasis. On the whole, Polly thought, Molly might have been the tiniest bit more surprised then Polly herself. At least, Polly had managed to keep her jaw in place.

Knees un-bumped. Polly breathed a tiny sigh of relief. She leaned over to Mal, who was back to sitting straight up and not looking at anyone, whispered "Thank you" into her ear, and kissed her cheek for good measure.

There was a faint glow somewhere in the coach. Metaphorically speaking.

-

The castle was _huge_.

"So let me get this straight," said Polly, when she and Mal had a moment to themselves in the melee. "This is only your summer residence?"

"Certainly not mine, and it's certainly not summer," said Mal. "Other than that, yeah, it used to be. Seems like my dear mother left Borogravia for good a year ago."

"It's a bit chilly in here," said Polly, because she thought it was expected of her. "And the interior is tasteless and the roof looks like it needs mending."

"There's a foot of water in the lower cellars," said Mal, not without a certain glee. "Awful, isn't it? What _is_ it, Igor?"

Only now did Polly notice the small, bumpy man that was standing directly behind Mal. Funny, she'd have sworn he hadn't been there a moment ago.

"The Lady Ingrid ith ecthpecting you," said Igor. "Follow me."

Mal hesitated just for the fraction of a second before hoisting up her pack and going after him. Polly followed her. All the satin and silk and serious hairstyles were a bit much to face on her own.

They were being led along an awful lot of corridors, mainly. Maybe the castle was bigger on the inside, thought Polly, and then disregarded the idea as being childish. It was probably just an Igor thing.

Sooner than Polly'd hoped, they arrived at a doorway that lead to one of those rooms whose only function seemed to be taking up space. Rooms like these generally weren't seen in Munz. It must be bigger than the whole of The Duchess' lower bar, thought Polly, and yet held nothing more than a grand piano and a writing desk.

Polly looked at Mal, meaning to convey 'is that her?'

Mal nodded slightly. Standing by the window was a woman. Mal's mother looked like serious business, all silk and velvet and complicated hair, dear sweet Nuggan, the _hair_. She was radiating coldness even from several yards away.

Polly resisted the urge to call out "hello" though, figuring that, or something like it, was Mal's part. Mal didn't, either. Closing the door after her seemed to have stripped her of her usual self-confidence. For a moment, she was just standing there, looking helpless. Igor had vanished.

The woman at the window didn't turn around. She merely lifted a hand, beckoning them closer.

Polly was watching Mal. Mal, who had fought battles, who hadn't so much as flinched in the face of death, gore, and Jackrum, turned out to be afraid of a small woman.

Wow.

Polly took Mal's hand, felt her own squeezed, and let go after a moment, and then Mal moved in that very silent way she sometimes employed. Polly was unsure whether to follow. She did in the end, because just staying at the door would have been all kinds of awkward.

This would still be all kinds of awkward, but, well -

Polly caught herself thinking longingly of the great heaps of snow she wasn't in just now.

"Maladicta," said the woman, finally turning around. Like Benedict, she looked a lot like Mal, or rather, she had the same features, only completely different. Her eyebrows were thinner and blacker and more arched, her eyes heavily shadowed with kohl, her skin pure white. Not the kind of face that would show much in the way of movement.

"Maladict," said Mal with an indiscernible smile, taking the offered hand with her own, bandaged one and kissing it. She was bowing, too, Polly noticed.

Now, cross-dressing was quite all right, she thought, but cross-dressing... cross-acting? In front of _Mum_? Maybe things were different with vampires, although, come to think of it, the woman looked entirely disapproving. But maybe this was because -

"I notice you're still wearing that ribbon, Maladict," she said. "I thought things had... changed." There was a side glance on Polly. She didn't like it.

"I notice you're talking to me, mother," said Mal. "So maybe things have changed, after all?"

There was a thin smile. It fit the overall impression.

"Some things might have," said the woman. Polly noticed that she didn't actually look much older than Mal; she just gave off the general impression of a more matured kind of nastiness. "What happened to your hand?"

"I had some sort of accident with silver," said Mal. Maybe she had got used to the question by now.

The woman smiled, and there was another small glance at Polly, who still didn't like it. "You always were clumsy, Maladict," she said.

Polly found her lack of surprise disturbing. But maybe maternal feelings wore off after more than two hundred years of parenting.

"But I am forgetting my manners," the woman added. "Sergeant Perks, is it?"

Polly had never once been confronted with the technicalities on how to greet a snobby vampire. (Which, of course demanded a footnote saying, yes, she had, but that particular vampire would always accept a "Hi!". Still.)

"Lady Ingrid," she said, bowing as well and kissing the hand, trying not to show too much of... anything, really. Vampires tended to inspire nervousness.

"I notice you aren't wearing a ribbon," said Lady Ingrid. "How come you put up with Maladict?"

Well, I'm not doing too great a job, do I? thought Polly. What with trying to kill her all the time -

"Hadn't had the time to acquire one yet," she said with what she thought was just the right amount of annoying naivety. "We're working on it, though."

"Of course," said Lady Ingrid. "I've heard about what happened. I'd like to offer you my compliments." She took a look at Polly's expression. "Or condolences, if that suits you better. I won't be so presumptuous as to guess your viewpoint on immortality."

On the whole, Polly decided she hated vampires. She settled for a smile.

"How come you know what happened?" asked Mal. "It's not as if we sent a letter, and Benedict only just arrived."

"One hears these things, Maladict," said the woman. She seemed very much at home with the blank expression.

"... Ah," said Mal, and Polly could hear the suspicion in her voice. Well, there was probably a perfectly good explanation, thought Polly. Maybe Benedict hadn't settled for a cellar when the castle was that close -

"And I can't say I'm not glad about what I hear," added Lady Ingrid. "I do think this is an important step in mending the family. Now, if you would only get over your sentimentality -"

She reached out to tug at Mal's ribbon. Mal stepped back, making it look completely unprovoked. It was amazing.

"So far I have been shot at, forced to spend a week in heaps of snow, and the unwashed masses stuck a stake through my heart," said Mal calmly. "Surely you agree that these things are nothing to be glad about?"

There might have been a hint of a raised eyebrow. "Tell me about that stake," said Lady Ingrid.

"None of your concern," said Mal, and suddenly, her eyes narrowed. "It _is_ none of your concern, is it?"

"Lay off the drama, Maladict."

"So how's Uberwald doing?"

If she had expected surprise at the sudden change of topic, she only got the mock version.

"How thoughtful of you to mention them," said Lady Ingrid. "They're arriving this very minute. In fact, I should really be off to greet them."

A whirl of black silk, and the woman gone. A moment of silence, and then -

"That one certainly went well," mumbled Mal. She was leaning against the wall, looking somewhat exhausted and avoiding Polly's eyes.

Polly couldn't help but feeling just the tiniest bit scandalised.

"I didn't just hear you asking your mother whether she's sent murderers after you, did I?" she said.

"One has got to know these things," said Mal. She cast a glance at Polly, and added, "You do have a very human concept of family, you know?"

"If by 'human concept' you mean that we don't generally set murderers on each other -," said Polly, not wanting to go there at all but, as usually, the art of living a quiet and easy life escaped her.

"Oh," said Mal, "we don't, either. Why go to all the trouble of committing murder when you can have perfectly good accidents?"

"Er," said Polly. "You said you'd been shot at -?"

Mal shrugged. "Aren't we all, sarge?"

Polly fixed her eyes on her for a moment, but Mal's face gave nothing away.

"What was that about Uberwald?"

"It's a... clue, nothing more," said Mal. Looking up at Polly, she added, "Damn it, Polly, I can't say much of anything right now. Just promise me to be careful, all right?"

"About what?" asked Polly. "Look, I'd really wish you'd tell me everything of importance, because keeping my eyes open isn't helpful as long as I don't know what to look out for."

Mal sighed. "It's... family," she said, "family and more. There's some kind of anti temperance group in Uberwald, too. Can't tell you anything else, sorry."

"I _am_ on your side, Mal," said Polly.

"Yes, but everyone else isn't, and they're listening!" said Mal. "Polly, dear, we are in a vampire castle. Quite a lot of people with amazing ears and not enough honest affection to fill a bloody eggcup. I'm bitter, so what?"

"I'm beginning to see why," said Polly. "Lady Ingrid certainly hates my guts, doesn't she?"

Mal stared at her for a moment, then chuckled. "And she thinks she's hiding it so well," she said. "An important step in mending the family. The _nerve_."

"I did feel distinctly instrumentalised when she said that," said Polly. "Why, though? Is it 'cause I'm, er, new at this? A girl? Because I don't have manners? Or what?"

"Bit of everything, I suppose," said Mal. "I mean, I'm not saying she isn't a practical woman. As long as it's wearing trousers, you can call it Maladict. That's helpful, at least. But I think she draws the line at, you know -"

Polly thought about what she was supposed to know, and then settled for saying "I don't, actually."

"You know. Something traditional about biting people?"

"Er," said Polly. "Suddenly, the names Tonker and Lofty spring to mind. Something like that?"

"Yeah," said Mal. "Something like that."

Polly hadn't exactly wished to venture into this topic, but there was a question in her mind, and it began with, "But I thought vampires were supposed to be - "

"Open-minded," said Mal. "Yeah, I know. But we do not always think as a group, Polly."

"... I see."

"Now, I think we should get going," said Mal. "My old suite's subterranean, though. Hope you don't mind."

She moved to pick up the pack, but a small black-clad figure was faster. Polly stared. The man must have come out of nowhere.

"I wath thent to accompany you to guethtroom four," said Igor. "If you'd pleathe follow me -"

Mal froze. "Are you sure about this?" she said.

"Er," said Igor. Polly had never seen any member of the clan this embarrassed. Or embarrassed at all, really. It was strange.

He got over it quite quickly, though. "The old marthter got rid of the lockth quite thoon," he said. "I am thure there'th no offenthe meant."

Locks?

"Was it my mother who ordered the sleeping arrangements?" asked Mal. She surely didn't let this go.

"It'th the only guetht room left," said Igor stiffly. "Pleathe follow me."

Polly looked at Mal, who shrugged and followed.

Old habits died hard, and so Polly did try to memorise the way to the guestroom. She gave up at some point, though. There were staircases, some spiralled and narrow, others wide and straight; there were long and hollow corridors; and doors hidden in the tapestry that opened and closed without a sound.

The guest room turned out to be a suite, actually, and one of the rooms even had windows. Unlike the rest of the castle, it also looked as though it had been renovated at some point during the last fifty years, as opposed to, well, never. The wallpaper was all different, and the ceiling looked painted, instead of being bare stone.

Of course, there'd always be flowing curtains. This was probably traditional. The bed wasn't, though, thought Polly. Mal preferred rafters, didn't she?

Igor put their luggage on the floor, slowly. He seemed to have something on his mind.

"You may leave," said Mal. "There isn't anything else."

"I heard you have acquired a thilver burn?" said Igor, shifting uncomfortably. "There'th a thpecial ointment -"

Polly almost pitied him. Living in a vampire castle, he probably didn't get much of a chance to patch people up.

"Thank you, but this will be all," said Mal.

"Are you quite sure about thith?"

"Actually, Igor, I've changed my mind just now."

Igor narrowed his eyes, that was to say, at first he only narrowed one. The other just twitched, until he sharply tapped his temple.

"I thee. It'th one of thothe tharcathm thingth again?" he asked, and then his bumpy face twisted into what could generously be called a smile. "I mithed that, Lady Maladicta."

"_Maladict_," said Mal, but she said it oddly gently. "Leave us alone now, will you? The sergeant and I have got to talk."

"Of courthe, Lady Maladict," said Igor, bowing and shutting the door behind him.

"Don't worry," said Mal, "there's a more direct route to this suite. Remind me to show you."

"What's the bed for?" asked Polly. "Why's there no coffins? Or, you know, crossbeams, stuff like that?"

"Some things are rather hard to pull off hanging upside down," said Mal. "I mean, it's doable, but -"

"Er -"

Mal snickered. "This _is_ a guestroom," she said. She caught Polly's glare and added, "It's called an insult, Polly."

Polly contemplated this.

"What kind of guests?" she asked.

"People who stay for dinner," said Mal, taking off her coat. "Now, let me see if they've left the clothes in here - look, they have. At least I don't have to meet family looking like a pig farmer." She inspected the contents of a wardrobe. "Bit old-fashioned, though."

"Hypovole -," said Polly, and interrupted herself. "Gosh, I feel silly saying that name."

"Yes," said Mal. "I think she's going to stay for dinner. Maybe she's going to stay forever, if she's lucky. Or unlucky. Of course," she drawled, "I won't be so presumptuous as to guess her viewpoint on immortality."

"One doesn't make fun of one's parents like that," said Polly, but without any real conviction.

"Yes, but I'm not having fun, am I?" said Mal. "And since you probably want to know, I don't think anyone can even see Molly's neck, because of all the jewellery. Let alone bite it."

She sat down on the bed, and yawned, and said, "Can't we just do a runner right now? 'm not feeling up to this."

"Ha," said Polly, who had some experience with dreadful family meetings. "At least you know how to dance. And behave. And dress. I'm feeling so thoroughly lower-class it's not even funny."

"Don't," said Mal. "At least you're nice."

Well, thank you so much for being honest, thought Polly, and then contemplated that.

"D'you think I can talk freely in here?" she asked.

"Probably not. What is it?"

"See, that's the question," said Polly. "What's with you and this room? You seemed a bit taken aback when Igor -"

"Just memories," said Mal. "I tried the withdrawal thing in here. It was a spectacular failure."

"Ah," said Polly uncertainly. That might explain the locks. "About withdrawal in general -"

Mal took off her muddy boots, and her socks, which turned out to be woolly, after all. She proceeded to wriggle her toes, watching them intently.

"It's not as life-threatening as Benedict wants you to believe," she said. "I succeeded second try, in Ankh-Morpork. The League may be a bit keen on cocoa, but they're quite efficient otherwise."

"So," said Polly, "how do you define a spectacular failure?"

Mal sat silent for a moment, then got up and went back to looking through the wardrobe. "I'll tell you later," she said. She inspected pile after pile of very frightening clothing, before turning to stare at Polly for a few seconds until Polly got distinctly uncomfortable.

"What _is_ it, Mal?" she asked. She didn't like the feeling of being taxed. It was the kind of feeling you got when your own grandmother looked you up and down and then proceeded to say 'there's a dress Emily grew out of that you'd look quite lovely in'.

"I think black's the colour," she said, turning back to look through the wardrobe.

"How very surprising," said Polly. "Who do these clothes belong to?"

"My brother and various cousins," said Mal. "You'll find a lot of old clothing throughout the castle. Of course, we don't call it old, we call it vintage."

"And I expect your brother and various cousins will be present tonight?" asked Polly. "Not that I'm generally a timid kind of person, but I can imagine all kinds of awkward situations."

Nevertheless, she was handed a pile of silky blackness. It gave off a strong smell of mothballs and violets.

"My brother acquired this suit one hundred and fifty years ago," said Mal. "I admit he does seem to have some sort of clothes thing, but I shouldn't think he'd recognise it."

Polly snorted. "You recognised it, and it isn't even yours," she said.

"Point taken," said Mal. "Er. But he won't say a word, 'cause he's generally nice?"

"Except that he isn't," said Polly.

"For a given value of 'nice', anyway," said Mal, admitting defeat. "I guess I could find you one of my old dresses, but those are no use in case we need to, I dunno, run very fast. Or something."

Every day, thought Polly, my life is getting better and better. And better. And -

"Besides, you're already introduced as Oliver," said Mal, now digging through a drawer of socks until she found what she was looking for.

"But I thought vampires -"

"You begin a lot of sentences like that, did you know?" said Mal, throwing her a pair of socks. "And I told you. Vampires are somewhat lenient when it comes to identity issues. D'you think you need a second pair?" She winked.

"I don't have identity issues," said Polly. "And I don't think I need that second pair. What are these made of, spiderwebs?"

"Silk," said Mal. "Basically the same. Don't go 'ew' at me. I know you want to."

Polly, obediently, didn't go 'ew', but sat down to put the impossible silk stockings on. This posed a problem she hadn't, so far, considered. Lots and lots of walking around in army boots, while generally considered healthy (well, possibly not, thought Polly, what with all the getting shot at and accidentally hiding in bear caves. But at least she got a lot of fresh air), did nothing to improve the smoothness of her feet. She was far from being a foot fetishist's worst nightmare, because that position had been already filled quite sufficiently by Sergeant-Major Jackrum, but she'd do as a holidays replacement.

"These things are sticking to my heels," she said. "How do you get them on?"

Mal looked her way. Her eyes widened. "For heaven's sake, woman, don't pull!"

"What else am I supposed to _do_? They're _stockings_!"

Mal sighed. "Here, let me help you," she said, kneeling down in front of Polly, rolling one of the stockings up and then, starting with Polly's toes, unrolling it again over her foot and up her leg, dragging and tugging gently until it fit. There wasn't even a whole lot of touching involved.

"Er," said Polly.

"I think a pedicure might be in order," said Mal. "I hear they do that kind of thing in Ankh-Morpork."

"Mal, you complete _girl_," said Polly.

"_Vampire_," said Mal with the slightest roll of her eyes, her hands lightly resting on Polly's knee. "And since we're having a girly moment anyway, please for the sake of all that is good and holy be _nice_ to your feet. You have very pretty feet, look, no hammer toes, no warts, no ingrown nails, but please. Pumice isn't that hard to come by." She shuddered. "I'm not going to say that again."

"What's next? D'you think I should paint my toenails?" asked Polly.

"I hear crimson is very fashionable these days," murmured Mal. She hadn't moved.

"Speaking of which," said Polly softly and took up Mal's right hand, which was still covered by the flowery fabric from the inn. "There's quite a lot you're not telling me, right?"

"Yes," said Mal, not looking at her. "I'm sorry."

"How did it happen?" asked Polly. "And don't tell me it was an accident. I saw the wounds."

"I," said Mal, and stopped. "I, er, picked something up. I didn't know it was silver, it had been blackened so it wouldn't shine in the sunlight. Really clever, if you think about it." She paused.

"What was it, Mal?" asked Polly.

"A clue," said Mal. "Just a clue." She made a subtle pointing movement towards her ears, and then towards the door. A tiny shrug.

Someone was listening? Or was she not sure?

Polly leaned forward and placed her fingers under Mal's chin, guding her upwards and towards her, and closer, still closer. "Clue to what?" she whispered into her ear.

Mal looked around before answering, but there wasn't anybody. "I'd quite like to find out -" she began.

Polly waited a few seconds. "What?" she whispered back.

"How much do you remember about getting injured?" asked Mal.

"Nothing much, really," said Polly, surprised. "Someone shot an arrow at me, I guess. It's a bit blurred."

There had been nothing blurred about the pain, nothing blurred about the fear, the falling down, the ringing in her ears. The blackness thereafter might have been called blurred, but you couldn't tell, it hadn't had edges.

Closing her eyes, she saw the blackness again.

"Hey," said Mal very, very softly. "I'm sorry, I'm here. Don't you go fuzzy now."

"'m not," said Polly. "Just bein' reminiscent."

"Don't be," said Mal.

"There's things you aren't telling me."

"Yes," said Mal. "I'm going to, I promise. I just haven't quite got a grasp on the whole picture yet."

"Is Uberwald a part of - ?" asked Polly, louder than she had intended. She was silenced by a finger on her lips.

"Shh," said Mal. "Don't know why you'd think that." There was something strange about the way she said it, and then Polly realised Mal was nodding her head at the same time.

Not good. Definitely not good. Polly had heard about Uberwald.

"What are we going to do?" asked Polly into Mal's ear.

"Get dressed up," murmured Mal. "Wait 'till the feast is over. Join for the dancing. Make a good impression. Leave and never come back." Her voice got even softer. "Find out a thing or two."

"Sounds good," whispered Polly.

It did seem a bit cowardly, she mused, not to do anything except smile and and nod and talk and maybe dance. But bravery wasn't the soldier's friend, she knew. Especially not if it was two against a castle full of vampires.

Vampires dancing, really. Nuggan knew where they got their charm from, it couldn't be from social interaction. Or so she had heard.

And speaking of social interaction -

Mal was still kneeling on the floor in front of Polly, actually leaning very much against her thighs, Polly couldn't help but notice, her head sort of resting against Polly's, like whispering but without the words. It was all very innocent and somehow Polly wasn't inclined to move at all.

She took a deep breath.

Somewhere off, and yet so close, she could hear a rhythm, faint and strong at the same time. It's a diametrical opposite, thought Polly, and then, wait -

"Heartbeat," said Mal. "Mine. You're getting better at this."

"Don't know if 'better' is the word," said Polly. She cast her eyes downwards, moved her head to follow. There it was, skin -

"Worse, then," said Mal softly.

Polly's lips tentatively brushed against Mal's neck. She heard that rhythm getting louder, speeding up, and she felt the flow underneath. Her hand was on Mal's jaw, pushing upwards with the lightest of pressures.

She opened her mouth, moving, teeth dragging on just a tiny bit and all the way to that point -

All she met was acquiescence, a slight bending of the neck, a shiver. Polly hesitated.

"I guess now is as good a moment as any," said Mal, calmer than Polly would have expected and definitely calmer than her pulse suggested.

Was that where all the knowingness came from? Polly wondered.

Her hand dropped, and Mal took it into her own. Polly breathed in, trying to concentrate, but she couldn't.

"I can't, Mal," she said. "I can't do this." Retreating already, she felt Mal's fingers stroke softly over her hand.

"It will only get worse," said Mal.

"Mal -"

"It's okay," said Mal. "Seems that you've still got time."

"I do," said Polly. Another deep breath, and - "Sorry. I didn't mean -"

"Hey, it's okay, really," said Mal. "Anyone can get distracted."

Polly really, really wanted to believe that. Actually, she did believe that. It wasn't because Mal was reasonably human-shaped, it was because -

She didn't know why, but there had to be a perfectly innocent reason.

"It would probably a good idea to get some dinner, though," said Polly. "I assume this place has rats?"

"Ha," said Mal. "It has a kitchen, even. There's bound to be rats, but maybe we find something else."

A kitchen? Here?

"We should get dressed, first," added Mal. "Could very well be we won't get taken seriously, otherwise. D'you need any help?"

"No," said Polly, picking up the other stocking. "I think I figured this socks business out."

Something inside her went 'er' at this sentence, but it was very firmly silenced.


	9. In A Tree

** Note: **More plot. Also: ex-lover(s), mention of underwear (or lack thereof), and disgusting imagery. Still Pratchett's.

**Note 2:** The next chapter will raise the rating to M. I will continue updating regularly, but please be aware that the story won't show up on the main page anymore unless you change the default setting. Mmmkay?

**Note 3:** Upon re-reading the last note, I'd like to add that I don't _actually_ think you're unable to figure that out on your own :D

**- **

**Plogviehze, Baby: Chapter 8. So what was that about the silver, eh?**

**-  
**

Polly did need help, after all, because it turned out the suit consisted of more parts then any suit should legally be allowed to have. There were trousers, and she figured those out on her own. There was a shirt, and a waistcoat, and a frock coat, all of which wouldn't have posed a problem, considered individually.

It was the details that were killing her.

There were small buttons on the inside of the shirt sleeves. There were cufflinks. There was a strange shawl thing that had probably been popular for around five minutes during the second to last century. Even Mal didn't know what it was called, and Mal did make a rather worldly impression otherwise.

And -

Lacy shiny puffy cuffs! A gold pin with a black taffeta rose on it! A black satin handkerchief with lace trimming! Impossibly sparkly wrist-length satin gloves! With tiny, tiny buttons!

"If we should really run from here," said Polly darkly, "I think I'm going to keep the gloves."

Mal, who had just spent about five minutes closing buttons for Polly, grinned. "Like them, do you?"

"Not exactly," said Polly. "It's just that I won't be able to get them off in a hurry. You vampires are really big on the impractical clothing, aren't you?"

"That's nothing," said Mal. "Try underwire, I dare you. Not the wimpy thing Molly's wearing, either. Vampire corsetry means _business_."

"Er," said Polly, her mind wandering off. "How?"

"Let me put it this way," said Mal. "They'll help anyone to some serious cleavage." She carefully closed the last of the buttons, and added: "You, for example. Or me. Or, to pick one example _completely_ at random, Major Blouse."

"That," said Polly, "was a mental image I could have done without. Thank you so very much."

"I did miss most of the Daphne show," said Mal. "I've got to entertain myself somehow, haven't I?"

"So, Mal, do you often fantasise about your superiors cross-dressing?"

There was amused silence.

"Okay," said Polly. "Lemme reformulate. Do you often fantasise about your superiors wearing women's undergarments?"

"No," said Mal, seemingly concentrating on buttons. "As a matter of fact, I fantasise about my superiors _wearing nothing at all_."

Polly lifted her hand to inspect the ease with which the lacy cuffs made her feeling estranged to her own wrists. It took a few sentences until her brain caught up with her ears, and when it did, she -

- glared.

Mal chuckled. "Polly, come on, you _asked_ for it."

_The whole of Borogravia for a witty retort..._

"I suppose I did," said Polly, finally. "But I will not take cheek from you, corporal."

"What would you accept, then?" asked Mal, and winked.

"You know, Mal, I don't think we're in Zlobenia anymore," said Polly. "I think we're in Bad Pun Land. Get dressed, woman, I'm hungry."

"This is a very strange sentence, coming from a vampire," said Mal, turning back to the wardrobe to look through its contents again.

"Ha ha, very funny, Mal. I hate you."

"This will only take a minute," said Mal, and emerged with clothes.

Of course, it didn't take a minute, even though Mal sounded very efficient; she hardly cursed at all while getting dressed. Polly had a quite interesting time studying the wallpaper before, finally, sauntering over to help with a few buttons.

Vampire clothing did always seem to require at least two people to put on and off, and a diagram would _still_ be helpful. It boggled Polly's mind.

"I can't help but notice," she said. "Is this suit you're wearing even remotely traditional?"

"Er," said Mal. "No-one said we have to wear black all the time. And it's got ruffles, and laces, and cuffs, and a high collar, and it's lined with very shiny scarlet satin. What's not traditional about this?"

"It's white," pointed Polly out.

"Ivory, actually, but I catch your meaning," admitted Mal, pinning the black ribbon in place.

"Show-off."

"That's the general idea, yes."

"Didn't we want to make a good impression?" asked Polly.

"An impression, at least," said Mal, and smiled. "C'mon. We're not going to do anything that's daring, stupid, or both, right? Nothing wrong with being a bloody nuisance."

She did reach for a highly dramatic black cape, though. It billowed even as she was holding it, more so when she threw it over her shoulders.

"Ready to go?" she asked.

"Er," said Polly. "You might want to replace that bandage. It's green and it has little yellow and white flowers on it, see?"

"Whoops," said Mal. "And I'm supposed to be the one with fashion sense."

"Hey!"

Mal dug some gloves out of the wardrobe yet again. Polly moved to help with the buttons without being asked. It was that kind of situation. As such, it lasted all of a moment.

"So are you comfortable with this, then?" asked Mal.

"Um," said Polly, and blinked, "I'm wearing shoes that I can't help but call high-heeled even though you keep insisting that they're very manly, and I've got the overall feeling I look like a very decorative, albeit black, cream tart. Also, I'm surrounded by nutcases. What do you think?"

"I think," said Mal, "that you need a drink."

She walked over to the pack.

"You brought the liqueur," said Polly. "I don't believe it. You die, you get resurrected, you get confronted with family, all in one evening, and you still remember to pack the liqueur." She shook her head wearily. "One of these days, I'm going to demand the story of your life."

"It's coffee-flavoured," said Mal. "It was the only sensible thing to do." She dug around, then triumphantly held up the bottle from the inn.

She also got two other items out of the pack, namely, her coffee bag and... something else. Something long and thin and wrapped in black fabric...

Having hidden the object under her jacket, Mal uncorked the bottle with her teeth. She took a swig, still looking elegant, then offered it to a confused Polly.

"Drink," she said. "I promise it will not put hair on your chest." After a moment of looking thoughtful, she added, "It might remove it, though."

Polly took the bottle, her mind still rather absent. Staring into Mal's eyes, she mouthed "Stake?"

Mal merely shrugged.

Er. Okay then. This was probably family business, and Polly wasn't family, so it would be all right if she just disregarded it. _No_ problem. No problem at all. She took a mouthful of the dark brown liquid, and stared.

To say it was sweet would have rendered icing sugar a mere white powder. This left the realms of sweet and plunged headfirst into the definition of... really damn sweet, or something; Polly wasn't at her most eloquent right now. She swallowed, and there was a hint of bitterness, right there. Comparing this to the scent of Mal's morning coffee would be like... like comparing two items that were diametrically opposite.

The taste of alcohol just hung there like a split infinitive.

"It's not entirely unlike coffee," said Mal, "but it's certainly trying."

"Crivens," said Polly in an attempt to unstick her tongue from her teeth. "Mal, while we're at it and seeing as I probably won't ever catch you drunker than now -"

"Shouldn't we be leaving?" asked Mal calmly.

_Damn_, thought Polly. _She knows exactly what I'm going to ask. If that's an ability that comes with vampirism, I want it, too._

"The story of your life, Mal," said Polly. "What was that about your father?"

Maybe it was the alcohol that made her say that. Maybe it was the bar wench Polly, or what was left of her. She was so used to people telling her all kinds of things when they were drunk.

Ha. Too early for that. And yet -

"Why?"

"Because I'm nosy?" said Polly. "Sorry. You don't have to -"

"Oh, to hell with it," said Mal, "so there was some kind of accident that spoiled our relationship, all right?"

There was a knock on the door.

"I know what your accidents look like," said Polly. "They're done entirely on purpose."

Mal smiled. "Exactly." Walking over to the door, she called: "Come in, Benedict."

Vampire lounging against the doorframe! Smirking! Polly calculated the distance to the nearest wall, just in case she'd get the impulse to bang her head against something solid.

"Nice suits, ladies."

Bastard.

"Say, Benedict, have you been listening all the time, or was that someone else before you?" asked Mal.

"I distinctly did not see cousin Heinrich from Uberwald coming my way. Myself, I've only just arrived," said Benedict.

"Liar," said Mal, but she said it with a certain amount of affection.

"All right. I might have heard that you two were in the middle of some sort of revelation. Do go on, I'm on your side."

"Er," said Polly. _Really?_ she thought. "I had the impression this was private."

"Nah," said Benedict. "I had the impression this was _family_. I've got a right to be nosy."

"It is family," said Mal. "Now, Benedict, how would you describe our late father to Polly's very innocent ears?"

"Tough," said her brother. "So much to choose from. Despotic? Bit loony? Complete bastard?"

"You're taking after him, I see," murmured Polly.

"C'mon," said Benedict. "I'm not despotic. Much."

"Remember what I said about the spectacular failure, Polly?" asked Mal.

Polly nodded.

"See how this room's been renovated? See the painted ceiling?" asked Mal. "Consider that, and then tell me you want details."

"Mal, what did he do?" asked Polly, thinking: _why the hell do I want to know?_

"You crazy little detail fiend," said Mal, looking defeated. "So I was having a bit of a bad time, on account of being, you know, in the middle of fucking withdrawal, and _I swear you do not want details_. Do you want details, Pol? "

"Er," said Polly. Regrettably, Mal took that as a 'yes'.

"My loving father found himself restless with worry, so he sent one of the human servant girls down here to see how I was doing," said Mal.

She let that piece of information sink in.

"Gods," said Polly in disbelief. "Was there anything _left_?"

Shit. She hated it when her tongue outran her brain like that.

"Quite a lot, actually," said Benedict lightly. "Only somewhat... distributed. Igor looked as if Hogswatchnight had come early."

Polly desperately tried to shut out her imagination. It didn't work very well.

"Eurgh," she said. There was some kind of a solemn moment, and then, "You did become a Black Ribboner after this, right? And please say yes 'cause I'm beginning to lose faith in humanity, and while I realise just now that that last sentence was sort of ridiculous, I still want you very much to say yes. Please?"

"No," said Mal flatly. "I believe the term you're looking for is 'monster'. It took two years and a stake before I tried again."

"... I guess I did ask," said Polly, thinking: someone better remind me to not ask a single question ever again. This is bloody... this is blooming madness.

"Now, what did you want here, Benedict?" asked Mal, changing the topic as if they had been talking about... something else entirely. Not about distributed people. Oh _dear_.

"Mother sent me. The feast has begun, and everyone's missing you," said Benedict. "Or, at least," he added as an afterthought, "they're making jokes about you sucking on root vegetables. They're not being _very_ mean about it, though."

"Ah," said Mal. "Regrettably, we were planning to be offensively late for the feast. So, Polly, how 'bout something to eat? From the _kitchen_?"

"Not quite sure if I'm still hungry, thanks," said Polly, who couldn't tear her eyes away from the wallpaper.

"Polly, you've been living off rats. Before that, you've been living off rat scubbo. Before that, you spent a week living off what was _probably_ rat scubbo," said Mal. "Surely you won't let something so superficial as lack of appetite stand between you and a meal?"

"Right," said Polly, remembering just now the feeling of Mal's neck under her... teeth, and her vivid imagination painted the rest of the picture. It wasn't a pretty picture. Enticing, yes, but not - "We're gonna grab a bite, you show me the castle, and then we're going to that dance thing and - what was it? Impress everyone with our charm," she added.

"Agreed," said Mal, and without a further word, she took Polly's arm and dragged her into the corridor; Benedict caught up with them in a split second, no effort involved by the look of it.

"Now," said Mal, as they were walking through the corridor, "on a not completely unrelated note, Benedict, how's the Molly kid doing?"

"Hypovolemia," said Benedict. "Now, Maladict, dear, you of all people should really respect the right of others to be called what they want."

"Well, yeah," said Mal. "Only I don't think I can say that without laughing. C'mon, it's hysterical."

"That's beside the point," said Benedict, but he was grinning.

"Where is she, then?"

The expression on Benedict's face could have been embarrassment, possibly. If you squinted. "She's not at the feast, if that's what you wanted to know," he said.

"Isn't she?" said Mal. "Benedict, that woman is about as clever as a codfish. This is me warning you."

"I wasn't planning on -," said Benedict, "imagine having to spend immortality with her! It's just - look, I showed her the castle, because that's traditional. Then she was all over me all of a sudden, possibly because that is also traditional, and then I said, no, my dear, I think I need more time."

Mal paused, and said, "... What?"

"I mean, she's wearing about three pounds of occult silver jewellery," said Benedict. "I'm not into pain, you know? And it's all bats and octagramms and ankhs and skulls and suchlike. It breaks my heart just thinking about asking her to put them off."

Mal chuckled. "That's sweet," she said.

"And she put _effort_ into that eyeliner," said Benedict. "Never seen such a fine depiction of soul-crushing despair on any vampire, actually." He sighed. "But all in all, I fear that might just be a facade. Behind her painted face and , ah, honest attempt at underwire, she's hiding some serious cheerfulness, and I'm not sure I can cope with that."

"Yeah, you've always been the delicate type," said Mal. "Where's she now?"

"Wandering about, I think," said Benedict. "She should be quite safe, though," he added, "I mean, she's practically wearing full body armour. Think about it."

"You're avoiding her, are you?"

"I might be," admitted Benedict.

"Ha!"

They reached a crossing.

"Kitchen's downstairs," said Mal. "We're catching up later, Benedict."

"Do your thing, then," said Benedict with a side glance on Polly, who rolled her eyes. "I'll tell Mum you're having a good time, shall I? And if you want to come, there'll be something better than pet food, so, wanna come?"

"Absolutely not," said Polly, and Benedict grinned, vanishing in a highly dramatic whirl of black fabric.

Pause.

"Pet food?" asked Polly. "As in, little scraps and... things you feed pets?"

"You'll see," said Mal.

The kitchen was huge, just like everything else in this castle, with the possible exception of buttons. And there were people, just like outside, people without teeth, or at least, without _those_ teeth, without widow's peaks, without unhealthy complexions. This posed a question.

"Who are these?" asked Polly as they were looking down from a gallery overviewing the whole of the kitchen.

"Ordinary people," said Mal. "Vampires can't be arsed with cooking now, can they?"

"I kinda figured," said Polly. "Are they being paid?"

"'course," said Mal. "Otherwise, they'd probably run screaming. They mostly work during the day. After all, menial labor is so _hard_ on the delicate eye."

A few metres below, a red-faced woman in a decorative lace apron was chopping up carrots. Another was slicing large amounts of onions. Their scent made Polly's eyes water, but the woman seemed completely unimpressed.

"Who are they cooking for?" she asked.

"Pets," said Mal softly. "Over there."

It was a group of young to middle-aged women, all very thin and dressed in black. They were human, or at least... reasonably human-shaped. They weren't talking. They weren't even looking at anything. And there was something odd about their facial expressions... Polly squinted.

They didn't have any. Empty-eyed and silent, they stood at the kitchen entrance, completely motionless.

Polly had to turn around and face the wall instead. Suddenly, the ground didn't seem so steady anymore.

"What are they?" she asked.

"They used to be human," said Mal, "and they're not vampires yet. Not going to be, either, the way things are going." She paused. "See, Polly, if you're going to turn somebody, you draw a bit of blood, and -"

"Yes, thank you, I know that," said Polly. "You already explained this in more detail than I care for. Human larders. How convenient. And sorta disgusting. This wall is really very interesting, um."

"I hoped you'd say that," said Mal. "I mean, yes, it's probably better then raiding nearby villages every other week, 'cos then the castle'd be drowning in pitchforks and their respective owners. Still -"

Polly thought.

"Can we do anything for them?"

"No," said Mal. "I mean, yes, but we'd have to collect blood from everyone who's been in this castle during the last, oh, two hundred years or so."

Polly managed an almost honest grin. "That'd be fun," she said, and added as an afterthought, "Er. In a completely wholesome and family-friendly way, of course."

She risked another glance down. With enough time, one could probably get used to these levels of crazy, she thought, but -

"This all is rather hard on my appetite," she said.

"You've got to eat," said Mal. "I'm not showing you these things for nothing. You know what can happen otherwise."

"Don't get all moralistic on me," snapped Polly. "You don't have to convince me that vampires are a bunch of sociopathic monsters, because, you know, I kind of already figured that out on my own. I don't need demagogic support, I need -"

"Yes?" asked Mal. "What do you need, Polly?"

She was looking at Polly in a mildly distressing way, and all Polly could think about was... distributed people. What good did a little black satin ribbon do, then?

"Information," said Polly. "Do you think we're being overheard here?"

"Probably not," said Mal. "The sort to overhear us wouldn't go near the kitchen, I think."

"All right then," said Polly, switching into questions mode. "Sex in a tree, Mal. What were you really doing that night?"

Mal looked up.

"Talking to Otto Chriek," she said.

"_What_?" hissed Polly. "Do you realise that this counts as... that's giving aid and comfort to the enemy, that's what it is!"

"_Actually_," said Mal, "we did have some sort of treaty with Ankh-Morpork, at least until the command went and invaded Zlobenia _again_, and as far as I'm aware, we've never been at war with Uberwald. So, no aid, no comfort, no enemy." She paused, gave Polly a thoughtful stare, and added, "You did realise that sex in a tree thing was a joke, didn't you?"

Polly groaned. "As a matter of fact, yes, I am aware that you find maintaining a private life to be a bit of a challenge," she said.

"Whoa," said Mal. "Now you're just getting nasty, Pol."

"It's the whole newspaper aspect that's the problem. You know the command tends to be a bit tetchy when it comes to that," said Polly. "Look, I'm honestly concerned here..." oh yes, _indeed_, added her treacherous mind.

"Well," said Mal, "there is the small matter of me having deserted anyway. They can't execute me twice."

"You _are_ a vampire," Polly pointed out.

"All right," said Mal, "they can execute me twice. Details, Polly."

"What were you talking about?" asked Polly, and thought, oh please tell me it was private, because it would sort out quite a few matters once and for all.

"Otto came through Borogravia on his way from Uberwald," said Mal. "He's been investigating for the Ankh-Morpork Times. This anti temperance thing looks rather worrying."

"How are you involved, then?" asked Polly. "There's not really anything you can do, right?"

"Yes, well," said Mal, and trailed off. "See, I've got to. The Anti Temperance League -"

Polly lifted an eyebrow. "Creative," she said.

"Yes. They're not going on crusade by means of leaflets, Polly. There's been deaths."

"Who?" asked Polly.

"Black Ribboners, mostly," said Mal, and turned away to watch the people below.

It was now that Polly realised just how loud the sounds from the kitchen were. A general buzzing, that was what it was. Nothing to do with the blood humming in her ears.

"... Shit," she said, just for the sake of saying something. "He was warning you, right?"

"Yes," said Mal. "That's why I agreed to come here. I'd really like to find out who's behind it. 'm not satisfied by the status quo."

"Yes, I noticed," said Polly. "Now, there's still something you aren't telling me."

It was a shot in the dark, of course, thought Polly, but a good way to get people talking was to let them think you already knew the answers.

"Yes," said Mal, still watching the ongoings below with studied interest.

"Okay," said Polly, thinking: shoot in the dark, shoot in the dark... er... "They've already attacked you," she said.

"Yes," said Mal, "in a manner of speaking. They missed and, so far, haven't tried again. Unless they sent Mr Pitchfork and his friend, but that would be ridiculous even for them."

"They missed?" asked Polly. "Surely it can't be that hard to direct a stake? Those two guys managed just fine."

"Yeah, thank you _so much_ for reminding me," said Mal. "It wasn't a stake, though; they tried to shoot me. Bit dumb, really, but that's crazy fundamentalists to you."

"So when you said they missed you -," said Polly.

"They hit someone close to me."

Silence, and silence, and, "Me," said Polly. "They hit me? You may lie now, I think I need it."

Mal didn't say anything, which was as good as an answer.

"But that's... completely pointless," said Polly, shocked enough to flee into the arms of logic. "I don't understand. Arrows don't hurt vampires."

"Not in general, no," said Mal. "This one, however...," she trailed off, pulling something out of her jacket, something long and thin and wrapped in cloth. Not a stake, after all.

"You took the arrow with you?" asked Polly. "What kind of macabre souvenir is that?"

Mal unwrapped the thing, carefully so as not to touch it, even though she was wearing gloves. Something dark emerged.

_They blackened it, so it wouldn't shine in the sunlight..._

"Silver arrow," said Mal simply. She rewrapped the thing and put it back.

"Gods," said Polly. "That was some barbed nightmare. You... er..."

She pointed to Mal's right hand.

"I picked it up," said Mal. "After our friend the army surgeon ripped it out of you in complete disregard of the barb situation." She shook her head. "What a _butcher_."

"Er," said Polly. "Why did you hold it so tightly for?"

Mal shrugged. "There were people looking. Couldn't just let go now, could I?" She looked pointedly away, as if daring her to comment.

Polly looked at Mal's gloved hand and tried to imagine this with reversed roles, and shuddered slightly. She understood that, at least.

"Okay," she said. She felt she was getting over the shock. "Okay. That's _it_. Can you lend me that arrow? For later?"

"Whatever happened to pacifism?" asked Mal with a grin that said 'I'd love to be uncomfortable, but really I'm just amused.'

"Pacifism can rot," said Polly. "Now really, I mean it. Some complete righteous wanker shot me and I'm supposed to discuss the matter over a cup of... tea?"

Probably not tea, but -

"I'm keeping the arrow, Polly," said Mal. "For reasons of, one, this is _family_, two, the arrow won't actually kill anyone. It's just for show."

"Yes, but it hurts, doesn't it?" asked Polly.

"I think," said Mal, "that one of those barbs was meant to fall off, once inside. Be glad it didn't."

"Let's go, then," said Polly, somewhat relieved to be able to direct her anger on someone other than Mal, which was how this was supposed to go.

"Nah," said Mal, "dinner first. We won't impress anyone if we start drooling, or something."

"I bloody hate vampires," said Polly, "and vampirism, and blood, and rats. Now, where can I get some?"

"Follow me," said Mal. "I think they're almost done upstairs, so we'd better hurry. And I should hope one of these fine ladies will be able to brew me some coffee."

-

There had been something distinctly unsatisfying about that rat just now, thought Polly. Now, was this a recent development or had rats always been like that?

She tried to analyse this: one, soldiers never felt satisfied after rat scubbo. Except, of course, if you'd just spent a week eating what was _probably_ rat scubbo. Two, she had spent the last week on rats (and once, on Mal, which didn't count except in some strange and frightening alternate reality). She had also spent the last week perpetually angry, which might or might not be related to the rats situation.

On a completely unrelated note, there was a very small figure sitting on the table right in front of her. It was clad in black and holding a very tiny scythe and that was why Polly hadn't mentioned its presence to Mal yet.

Right now, Polly was eating bread. Bread was good. Nourishing, delicious, and it worked to get that metallic taste out of her mouth. Other than that, she might as well have been eating cardboard, and she knew what she was talking about.

Mal, of course, was drinking her coffee. In a small chamber just adjacent to the kitchen, and sitting opposite her, she had regained that thoroughly disgusting air of universal confidence.

"What are you thinking of?" asked Mal.

"People asking this kind of question should be shot," growled Polly.

"Ah," said Mal.

SNH SNH SNH.

Polly glared at the very tiny figure. Mal didn't seem to notice.

"I wish you'd get angry once in a while," said Polly. "Just so I don't feel alone."

"Are you trying to provoke me, kid?" asked Mal with a smile that said 'come, try it'.

The very tiny figure sat completely still, but Polly had the distinct impression it was snickering. Light was reflected off its scythe.

_Forget Uberwald_, thought Polly. _This is the clue I need_. A battlefield and moonlight reflected off a scythe, a bigger scythe, and words. Now what -

"Oh _shit_," she said, and meant it.

"What's up?" asked Mal. She looked right through the tiny figure, that tiny Death on the table.

Polly took a deep breath. "Look, I can hear that cook's heartbeat from here, all right? It's disturbing. I don't think I've got much longer, actually."

Mal's glance flickered from the cook, who was visible through the half-open door some ten metres away, to Polly. It stayed there for a long time; her coffee was temporarily abandoned.

Tiny Death walked over to the cup and sniffed it. Ghostly whiskers trembled.

... Death had whiskers?

"It should be a few days still," murmured Mal, "but maybe -"

"Maybe what?"

"Maybe there's too many vampires around. Bad influence sort of thing. I don't know," said Mal, "d'you think we should just leave and get on with life?"

"What good would that do?" asked Polly. "We were planning to leave in a few hours anyway, so we should really spend some time finding things out. Come on Mal," she added as an afterthought, "Otto'd be delighted."

Now, of course this was another shot in the dark. With enough of these, Polly mused, she might one day get a clear picture of Mal. Or maybe not. The vampire - oh, to hell with that - the other vampire was glaring at her.

"What are you implying, exactly?" asked Mal.

"Nothing."

"... Good," said Mal. "Now, we really should get going. People might grow a bit impatient otherwise."

She put the empty coffee cup onto a shelf for people to find, something which is done by annoying party guests all over the multiverse. Polly got up in a fluid motion and very nearly sat down again. The dizziness, of course, was due to lack of sleep. Nothing to worry about, and Mal hadn't noticed anyway.

"Are you sure about this all?" asked Mal.

Or maybe she had. Well.

"Get out of my head," said Polly. "'m not in the mood."

Tiny Death disappeared behind a cupboard, and Mal merely shrugged, clearly not intending to press the point any further. She did, however, take Polly's hand again, dragging her on a complicated route through the castle.

After about ten minutes, Polly started to hear the music. It sounded strange to her ears, a low, flowing rhythm that reminded her of... something, but maybe this was a vampire thing. After a while. she could also make out the distant sound of a harmonium. Couldn't be much longer, now. And voices, a low whispering on the edge of her hearing. Well, low until -

"Maladicta," hissed somebody from an adjacent corridor, and before Polly knew it, Mal had let go of her hand.

"Maladict," she said without looking, then turned around and peeked into the corridor. "Er, wait, probably Maladicta to you. Sorry."

A woman stepped into the flickering light of the dim gas lamps lining the main corridors. She was pretty, saw Polly, all black hair and pale skin and... wait, that was some really serious corsetry she was wearing. Polly felt her ribs crack in sympathy.

"I haven't heard from you in a while, Maladicta," said the woman.

"Four years," said Mal. "I'm awful at keeping touch. Sorry 'bout that."

"Some double entendre," said the woman, with a grin that made Mal nervous, or at least, Polly thought so. It made Polly nervous, at the very least.

"It wasn't _that_ clever," said Mal.

"I grew... concerned over the time," said the woman. "I trust that you've been well?"

Pause.

"Look," said Mal, "I don't have much time, and more than enough vague hints. I need names."

The woman smiled again, taking Mal's hands into her own. She did look at Polly for a moment, before concentrating on Mal. "Good luck with finding out, then," she said, and leaned forward to drop a kiss onto her forehead.

"Er," said Mal, but the woman had already vanished. Confusion lay thick in the air.

"Sorry, Polly. I can't help it," said Mal, "sometimes things just get bizarre on their own."

"What was all that about?" asked Polly. "You obviously knew her."

"Old friend," said Mal. "Well, very old friend, if you think about it. That was just her way of telling us she's on our side, but she won't tell us what she knows, and won't help us if we get into trouble. Maybe she'll crack a smile if we survive, or something."

"Really bloody helpful, then," said Polly. "What did you do to piss her off?"

"Er," said Mal, and blushed, she actually blushed. "I didn't, actually, piss her off, 'cos I think she's much too -"

"Much too what? Cheerful? Easy-going? Forgiving?"

"Indifferent, probably," said Mal. "I hope. Let's just say I... er... let's just not say anything at all."

"... All right."


	10. Find Myself A Window

**Note: **Amazingly enough, it's still Pratchett's. This chapter is rated M an account of it being a little disgusting.**  
**

**- **

**Plogviehze, Baby: Chapter 9. In which things pretty much go to hell.  
**

**- **

"The music's bloody awful," whispered Polly, because she felt she had to comment on something as they were walking along corridors again, and she rather wanted to leave the topic of distressing vampire ladies alone. Also, the music that was waving over to them in bits and pieces _was_ pretty awful, disharmonic and yet almost organic, in the way that probably-rat-scubbo was almost organic.

"Yeah, well, the harmonium's a bit old," said Mal. "And I think someone got Igor to oil the pedals, which wasn't a very good idea at all, 'cos Igor can't say no to a little bit of squeak. We're nearly there, now listen, Polly."

There was a pause.

"Yes?" said Polly. "I'm listening. I can't help it, on account of the whole having ears business. I hate your dramatic pauses."

"Ack, sorry," said Mal. "I think that's genetic. Since you're listening and all, I just wanted to remind you that you've got to be really really careful. Don't talk to people and stick with me. Please?"

"You know, Mal," said Polly, "the way things have been going, I'd say that sticking with you rather leads to grievous bodily harm, instead of, you know, medals and pie and suchlike. I have one last question."

There was another pause.

"See?" said Mal. "You're doing it as well."

"Just to show you how really damn nerve-grating it is," said Polly. "Why didn't you tell me about all of this before?"

"I wasn't sure how you'd take it," said Mal. "You made a somewhat unrelaxed impression."

Polly considered this. "Who's sergeant here, then?"

"You are," said Mal. "That is, you were. Right now, I think the squad would run screaming from you."

Polly considered her current attire. "Burst out laughing, I should think."

Mal shrugged. "Or that."

And whose fault was that, anyway? she thought. Come to think of it, it was the fault of whoever bloody well shot her. And the army surgeon's.

Oh, and Mal's, of course. Die, Mal, die!

The music grew steadily louder as they were getting closer to their destination. Behind an official looking doorway, Polly could see a lot of mostly black-clad people moving about in the flickering light of thousands and thousands of candles.

"There," said Mal. "Take care. We're just here to talk and smile, okay?"

Polly did have violent carnage in mind, but as she was - what was the word - _assessing_ the situation, she figured that something like that would rather count as a famous last stand and was therefore impractical.

That last step through the doorway felt like a step away from sanity, a step into the realms of batshit crazy. Heat washed over Polly, and she had to concentrate on thinking logically.

Of course it had to be warm in here, with all the candles burning merrily and dripping wax all over the place, no really, but of course they did that in a most stylish way, building up artful clusters and streams. Polly was drawn to one of them, reaching out a finger to touch one tiny stream of hot red wax.

"Don't you dare discover your inner Lofty right now," hissed Mal. "Besides, this place doesn't burn too well." A smirk. "I tried."

I think I already discovered my inner Lofty, in a way, thought Polly, and then thought, wait. Where the hell did that come from? She chalked it up to bad influence.

Dear Nuggan, they all looked like... they all looked a bit... ambiguous, if that was the word. Those wearing suits, at least. Some of the dresses were, Polly had to admit, rather frank about it all.

There was a lot of music in the room, and Polly didn't quite know where it came from. She could see a woman in a dramatic white headscarf torturing a harmonium, but that one was merely squeaky. She almost couldn't hear it.

Mal, next to her, was greeting people, and sometimes Polly got introduced to distant cousins and old friends and elderly aunts. Everyone's got elderly aunts, thought Polly, and very nearly had to giggle, because apparently even Mal had a bunch of Aunt Hatties. "But do you get enough proteins, dear?" was said twice. It was surreal.

"So, what's the point of it all?" whispered Polly at one point.

"Bugger me if I know," said Mal. "We're just not very social is all, but nobody likes to admit it."

"Found out anything yet?"

Mal shook her head. "They're clueless, mostly. Un-po-li-ti-cal." Her eyes caught Polly's; and her glance made Polly feel a little uncomfortable, as if she was being taxed. Leaning over, Mal said, "Are you quite sure you're all right?"

"Bit warm, is all," said Polly.

"It's not, as a matter of fact, very warm," said Mal.

"Must be that fifteen-piece-suit I'm wearing, I suppose," said Polly. "The shawl thing, especially, is trying to asphyxiate me through sheer embarrassment. I think it adds at least five degrees to an already unsatisfactory ambience."

"Yeah, it's somewhat old-fashioned," murmured Mal.

"So, is there any chance one might get something to drink in here?" asked Polly. "Oh look, how _cute_!"

That last sentence was out before she could stop it, but she didn't scold herself. Much. Two tiny vampire children, dressed in white lace drapery, were bouncing over the floor, aided by leathery bat wings sticking out of their backs. Their teeth were very visible in smiling faces. The sight would have made even the most independent woman coo in adoration and then clutch her belly and possibly other assorted body parts in gratitude that these two belonged to someone else.

Polly stared in fascination, until she felt eyes on herself. Looking up, she saw a man staring at her, a rather threatening smile on his lips. "So good of you to approve of my children," he said.

"No matter how you word the invitations," said Mal, "someone always brings the kiddies." She tugged at Polly's sleeves, dragging her away from the children and their father.

"What the hell was that about?" asked Polly. "By the look he gave me, you'd think I'd just stuffed and eaten his first born. Or something."

"Er," said Mal, and fell silent for a moment, "it's like... you know. They're very tiny and helpless and easily impressed, and vampires don't like their children to be around humans much."

"But I'm not even -"

"You look human enough," said Mal.

"Aw, _thanks_," said Polly. "Best of both worlds, yes?"

Mal looked back over her shoulder, ignoring Polly's comment. "And look," she said, "they teach them to transform before they can walk. Kiddies will grow up mightily confused."

"As opposed to you, who're perfectly well-adjusted and also, so _good_ at flying," said Polly.

Mal sighed wearily. It might or might not have been ironic. "I really really _really_ need a drink," she said, scanning the room. "And I think they're over there. Come with me."

"You don't have to look after me," growled Polly, trailing after Mal.

"Er," said Mal. "Maybe you can look after me, if you want to? I'd rather we stick together."

"Ah," said Polly. "Diplomacy. I think I can live with that."

They reached a small table full of what Polly thought rather fancy glasses, the kind you inherited from resentful relatives that you really should have invited to that dinner party fifteen years ago. Behind the glittering nightmare stood Igor, looking rather put-off.

"How can I be of thervithe, thurth?" he said in a dignified voice. His lisp seemed to have worsened, Polly noticed, and his hunchback was so defined it strained his dusty black suit. Now, she recognised that behaviour; it was something she'd been teaching the lads: in times of stress, hold on to what you know.

"You don't like being a barmaid, do you?" she asked sympathetically.

"It wath all I could do to avoid the dirndl," said Igor.

"Is there any chance of a glass of water, Igor?" said Mal.

"Anything elthe? How about _cocoa_?"

"Whoa," said Mal. "I see you've been working on the sarcasm thing."

"Tho far, I have offered cocoa to thirteen guethtth," said Igor, beaming. "However, it'th to my deepetht regret that I have to tell you that all there ith that ithn't the, you know, other thtuff, ith warm red wine. I hear it'th the latetht fashion in Uberwald. The youngthterth love it."

"I see," said Mal, and leaned forward. "Are you perhaps dissatisfied with your current employment situation?"

"Lady Maladict, I am thure you know what not to athk thomeone in my pothition," said Igor. "I get good working hourth, an occupation with... hardly any embarraththment at all, and all the thpare limbth I want."

"Yes, of course," said Mal. "Now, a man in your position surely hears things."

"Are you, perhapth, implying thingth of a... thurtain nature? An _obthcure_ nature?"

"Er," said Mal, looking confused. "Yes?" she volunteered. With an air of conspiracy, Igor leaned over to her.

"No," he said. "Nothing. No nameth, at leatht. They come from Uberwald. There'th twenty-theven guethtth from Uberwald, tho I thuggetht you athk them?"

"Oh, I will," said Mal, "thanks for helping."

"You know," said Igor, "you were the only one who wath ever fun to work with. No-one elthe died quite that often."

"Thanks, Igor," said Mal. "That really means a lot to me. Now, we've got to get on, I'm afraid."

"Good luck," said Igor.

"Well," said Polly, after they had left Igor surrounded by thirsty vampires (Polly couldn't help but feel guilty), "at least they're wishing us luck. Could be worse."

"Yeah," said Mal. "Could be pointy death, I suppose. Speaking of which..."

"What are you going to do, Mal?" asked Polly.

"I think I've got to ask the Uberwaldeans, do I?" said Mal. "No-one else seems to want to tell me anything."

"And you suppose they will?" asked Polly.

"Of course they will. Can't resist an opportunity to show off, right?" said Mal. She walked off into the crowd, and Polly realised she had a hard time only following her. Polly grew dizzier by the minute. It was the music, and the damn heat, and the lack of water, and -

_I've got to find myself a window, or something_, thought Polly. Anything to escape this air. All right, not anything, because she couldn't quite leave Mal alone in this...

The room spun, or maybe Polly was disoriented. Mal had vanished somewhere between the cold faces. Polly very much wanted to sit down, and was very much aware she couldn't hold still.

Oh, damn.

A part of her mind knew what that might be, but really, no. She had no idea. She felt very very alone. Look, no humans in sight, no humans at all, only monsters, and Polly right in the middle.

"Polly!" hissed a voice, and she realised it was Mal, who had come back for her. Good old Mal. She felt herself being grabbed by the elbows.

"You all right?" said Mal urgently.

_No, I'm bloody well not_, Polly wanted to say, but only managed, "Yeah, of course."

_Now, that would really be a good time for a bit of mind-reading, Mal_, thought Polly, but Mal didn't seem inclined.

"Come along then," said Mal, dragging her by the hand again. "I'm going to talk to a few people, and you'll be watching. If anyone starts to get overly sarcastic, then -"

Pause.

"Remember what I said about -" began Polly.

"That wasn't a dramatic pause," said Mal. "That was a clueless pause. I have no idea what to do if anything happens, so just try and drag me away then. Politely, if possible."

"I'll think of something," said Polly. _Hey, who's sarge in here?_ she thought, and then, _but I'm swaying, and if I don't take care I'll start drooling, so what's my point again?_

And then she thought, _oh wait_...

"Cousin Heinrich," she heard Mal say some distance away. Mal was greeting a tallish, lanky man who seemed about thirty, thirty-five. From his receding hairline to his polished black shoes, and with the possible exception of the teeth, Polly thought he rather looked like an everyday caricature of a bank accountant. It mystified her.

The man was taking Mal's right hand, and he must have squeezed, because Polly saw the slightest wince in Mal. It looked painful.

"Isn't that going a bit far?" said a voice right behind her. Polly spun around, her nerves being a little fragile at the moment.

"Oh, it's you," she said, somewhat relieved. Benedict made a tiny gesture towards Mal.

"Now, I know I told her she might find things out, but -"

"But what?" asked Polly.

Benedict shrugged. "That's brave," he said.

"Do you know anything?" asked Polly. "'cause you rather make the impression that you do, and I don't like it."

"Suit yourself."

Between the heat and the music and her general indisposition, Polly found it rather hard to concentrate on the concept of anger management. Still, she tried.

"Look, I know you don't like me and that's okay, 'cos I don't like you either, but -"

It must be something in the family, Polly thought. Very few people could convey that much amusement in a single glance.

"If you're looking for the way to get me to do you a favour, that isn't it," said Benedict.

"What I was going to say -," said Polly, "is that I think you might like Mal a bit, 'cause she's family, well, probably not _because_ she is family, considering, but, you know, and I think you also know there's crazy murderers after her, and -" that weak flapping sound, thought Polly, must be eloquence fluttering away, "- and I think you might have an inkling about who these people could be, so considering all this, why can't you just tell me?"

"Ah," said Benedict, "but the only attempt on Mal's life I personally witnessed was performed by you, so why, pray tell, do you think I should trust you?"

Good question, thought Polly. She watched Mal, who was talking to someone else now, and she watched the Uberwaldeans, who were all watching Mal. There wasn't even the slightest hint of upcoming trouble, but somehow Polly couldn't help the feeling that neither she nor Mal would get out of this alive.

"I don't know," she said to her own surprise. "She does. Trust her judgment, will you?"

"Okay then," said Benedict. "How do you know you can trust me?"

"'cos you're still wearing that godawful ribbon," said Polly. "Only the good side's that stupid. I mean, there's rather a lot of crazy fundamentalists around."

"Yeah, well," said Benedict, "I could be a very cunning double agent."

By now, things may have got a little silly.

"No," said Polly, "'cause, you know, and I don't mean to be offensive here, a vampire's idea of cunning is spelling their name backwards."

Benedict looked thoughtful for a while. "You know," he said finally, "I always found it rather curious that they'd call themselves Ecnarepmet Itna. I mean, it doesn't exactly roll off the tongue."

Polly did some visual thinking, then groaned.

"Told you," she said. "Now, you gave me the name of the group, anything else?"

"Yeah," said Benedict. "Have you seen Hypovolemia?"

"Changed your mind about the jewellery, have you?" asked Polly, accepting defeat. She turned her concentration back onto Mal, who was engaged in a rather stilted conversation with a black-robed man and a woman in a white head scarf. The harmonium player, she remembered.

"_Actually_," said Benedict, "her chauffeur has been standing in front of the castle gates for fifteen minutes now. He's repaired the coach. Nobody's eaten him yet. Please?"

"Damn," said Polly. "You really want to get rid of her, right?"

"I beg you," said Benedict. "Tell me, have you seen her? I must know where she is!" Benedict's hand was this short of grabbing Polly's impossible shawl thing in theatrical imploration. She knew he wanted to.

But how - ?

She saw Mal cast a glance back over her shoulder. Polly slapped Benedict's hand, and Mal grinned, and turned to concentrate on whoever she was talking to.

"No," said Polly. "Sorry."

"I'll be off then," said Benedict. "Good luck to you. Er, one last thing."

Polly cut the dramatic pause in half by saying, "What?"

"Your... condition is rather obvious," said Benedict. Polly raised her eyebrows.

"Condition?" she asked.

"Have you got any hallucinations yet?"

"I don't have any - I mean - I don't have a condition!" she said to Benedict's retreating back.

Now, if they'd only stop the music, she thought. And maybe open a window. And then she thought, damn, he could simply use gloves for the silver jewellery. He's _got_ to be one of the good guys.

Flickering shadows were dancing in the hall. Polly needed a while to focus on Mal, and then she grew very concerned indeed. Mal was... not in danger, she thought, at least, not in imminent danger... but she was standing with her back to the wall, which could be a good thing if you wanted to fight but a very bad thing indeed if you didn't...

Mal was still talking to that black-robed mountain of a man and the woman in the white headscarf.

Polly considered her possibilites. One, she could keep standing around at a boring party, one of those where nobody liked you and the one person whom you'd managed to strike up a conversation with had just wandered off to pursue another female who, incidentally, was several sandwiches short of a picknick, and also had better hair. _That_ sort of party.

And there, Polly's thought trailed off and she decided to go directly for the second possibility, which was, join Mal. She sauntered over in what would have been a nonchalant stride if Polly hadn't felt she was swaying.

When she saw Mal slowly taking off her gloves in an oddly pointed manner, she hurried.

"Don't you want to introduce me, Maladict?" said Polly and added, with just the right amount of clinging desperation, "You know that I don't know anybody here!" She was especially proud of the exclamation mark. A remarkable achievement, considering the amount of stress she was under. And anyway, Polly wasn't afraid of embarrassment; she figured they all knew she was a girl anyway, so possibly they also were backwards enough to let that count in her favour.

"Sure," said Mal with the strangest smile ever. "Mr Krueger, Miss Ainocard, may I introduce Sergeant Oliver Perks? I'm sure you've heard of him."

"Charmed," said Polly.

"Likewise," said Krueger. Miss Ainocard, however, did not seem to want to let go of Polly's hand at all once she'd got a hold of it.

"Mr. Krueger and Miss Ainocard are working a small business, Oliver, the name of which... must have slipped my mind - ?"

"I didn't tell you, Maladicta," said the man. "You won't have heard of it anyway. It's a small family business back home in the woods."

"I may have," said Mal. "I'm very interested in that kind of thing."

"Ecnarepmet Itna," said Polly, more to Mal than anyone else. Subtlety be damned, that woman was still holding her hand and Polly didn't quite know what to do.

Mal closed her eyes for a second, lips moving, then said, "Is that so?"

"Oh, _Oliver_," said Miss Ainocard. "Do you dance at all?" She had a most distressing expression, as if she was reading a romance novel: sloppy writing, predictable storyline, but amusing while it lasted.

Amusing at least, thought Polly. And I seem to get the guy.

Er.

"I don't think I can dance to this kind of music," said Polly, and then thought, wait, I'm talking to the harmonium player -

"... Ah," said Miss Ainocard, smiling.

Mal looked at her strangely.

"Polly," she said softly, "there's no music playing."

Polly freed herself from Miss Ainocard's grip, which proved to be a lot tighter than one expected from someone asking for a dance. "Oh, dear," she murmured. The rhythm was going on, and on, and on, and it was changing all the time.

Mal took her hand.

"We're leaving," she announced to the world in general and to Polly in particular. "Mr Krueger, Miss Ainocard, it's been a pleasure. Tell your coworkers I said hi. We've really got to dash."

She dragged Polly behind her.

"Mal," hissed Polly, as they were exercising their hasty retreat through the hall, "haven't you forgotten something? You've forgotten the goddamn carnage!"

"I was here to talk," said Mal, "and talk I did."

"Did you find out -"

"No! I mean, yes, of course, it's only most of them who're involved to the neck. Beats me who does the thinking, though."

Polly stopped. "Then we should stay," she said. "It's all a bit pointless otherwise, right?"

"I think I've got enough information to work with," said Mal. "Now, please Polly my darling muffin apple pie, move. We gotta leave before they've had a good think about what they just told me, otherwise I promise you there's gonna be a carnage."

Polly had mental images. "Sounds good," she said. Whoops.

"Pol_ly_..."

"Coming," she said, contemplating all possible meanings of the phrase 'darling muffin apple pie'. Who was going crazy here, again?

Well, she, probably -

Damn. So many reasonably human-shaped things around... Polly blinked and got moving. No getting distracted now.

The castle was still an impossible maze to her, and by now she had given up on trying to memorise its layout. Besides, she had the distinct impression that Mal was taking a more complicated route than even Igor.

"Nearly there," said Mal at some point, dragging Polly off into a corner. "Look at me, Polly." Polly did, and got stared at quite intently, in a way that made her feel like she should stick her tongue out and say, "Aah".

And then, _something_ distracted her. It was hard to understand.

"Music's still there?" asked Mal. She was standing too close for comfort, and Polly realized that there was, indeed, no music. And then there was -

"Heartbeat," said Polly, absent-mindedly. "It's just yours now. I got confused in the hall, that's all. Didn't know it'd be that loud."

She tried to fixate on what was distracting her, and then -

"Oh shit oh shit oh shit," she murmured, and Mal grabbed her by the shoulders.

"What's up, Polly?" she asked.

"Wall's bleeding," she said, and then a bit of Polly came through to do some necessary logical thinking. "Well, probably not, you know, bleeding, but -"

"Er," said Mal. "Just follow me, and hold on. If all else fails, close your eyes."

Polly tried.

"That's _worse_," she said.

She heard Mal cursing.

A few minutes later, the corridor grew into something familiar to Polly. There it was, the door... she let go of Mal's hand, or Mal let go of hers. Polly noticed Mal was just staring at the door, an expression of horror on her face.

"Hey, we're there," said Polly, pulling the handle.

"Wait," hissed Mal, "there's someone -"

Polly stepped through the door -

- and into a nightmare. Her brain shut down without checking back with her. There was an overwhelming impression of red. There was a faint dripping sound. A strong scent which she didn't so much smell as feel -

So that was what distributed people looked like. Bits and pieces that she very much couldn't identify, despite all the practical battlefield anatomy in the world.

She felt Mal step behind her.

"This is not real," said Mal. "Calm down."

Drip drip drip. Polly shuddered.

"You can see it, too," she whispered.

"It's contagious," said Mal. "Flashsides. You know, someone else's flashbacks?"

"Whose?" asked Polly, but she knew, she knew.

"Mine," said Mal flatly.

Polly took a deep breath, and the room flickered back into normality. The dripping sound stayed, on account of the universe being a mean bastard, but this was a little more bearable. Besides, there was a more pressing problem right now.

"I've been expecting you," said Molly from her cushioned armchair near the open window. Curtains were playing in the wind. There was moonlight, and everything seemed so... traditional. Folkloric, even.

Sweet Nuggan, the blood was dripping right into her _lap_...

"Ozz, you go into the other room. I'll sort this out," said Mal.

"Benedict's looking for you, Molly," said Polly, concentrating on every word. Two heartbeats in the room now, save her own. "Says your coachman's waiting for you outside."

"It's Hypovolemia," said Molly, smiling. "And even though I admire your concern for my safety, I'm afraid that this is not acceptable."

"Ozz -," said Mal, a hint of urging in her voice now.

"Look," interrupted Molly. "I did everything. I've sabotaged the coach. I've spent an hour on the eyeliner. I'm wearing the underwire -"

"Ha!" said Mal.

" - how blooming obvious am I supposed to be? All I'm asking for is that someone, anyone in this castle finally get around to bite me. That'd be most perfect!"

Facing that much enthusiasm, Polly thought, one couldn't help wanting to be helpful. It was like pointing out the merits of a strategically worn pair of socks to Shufti.

Well, not quite, but -

"It's the silver," said Polly. "They can't touch it."

Molly touched one of her various necklaces with a heavily ringed hand. "Oh, that?" she said. "I can have that off in half an hour, tops."

"Don't you dare," said Mal. "I know it's a bit hard for you to understand, but right now it's your only protection."

"Now," said Molly, completely ignoring Mal, "I heard you say 'they', Oliver. Will you touch silver?"

Wait, thought Polly. This is Roundheels Molly, only dressed in velvet now, a honest farm girl looking for an adventure, and _I don't have onions to save me help!_

Damn.

"I don't recall ever having an intrinsic fear of that sort of thing," said Polly. She noticed, briefly, that she appeared to be moving on autopilot. She also noticed the dripping had stopped. Her mind was a one-way street now, and there was only one heartbeat left in the room. Molly's.

In the far distance, a voice shouted her name. She disregarded it, but trying to move on, she couldn't quite disregard the fact that she was being held back.

Damn, Mal was _fast_.

"Why can't I -," said Polly. It was hardly reprehensible, or anything. Molly _wanted_ this. She'd be doing her a favour.

"You'd kill her," said Mal.

_Wouldn't be the first time I_ - was what Polly began thinking, but didn't finish.

- being a vampire was really not all that different -

The room shifted again, and the armchair in which Molly was sitting looked thoroughly ripped apart, and so did Molly, ripped apart and put together again, and someone'd done a sloppy job of it, too. Two rows of teeth moved, and they said, in a tone of whiny shock, "_Polly_?"

Polly closed her eyes, and opened them again, and - it's Molly, only Molly, she thought. No thing with teeth. All right, a thing, yes, with teeth, probably, but not quite so...

... distributed...

"Yes," said Mal. "It's Polly. Girl inna fancy suit. Welcome to the wonderful world of vampires, Miss Hypovolemia."

The thing stared at Polly with an open mouth. "You're a girl," it said, finally. It looked like it would have liked to add an 'ew"' but wasn't quite sure about how this would be received, so it settled into a smile.

This kind of dumb bravery would have been worthy of Major Blouse, thought a somewhat disconnected part of Polly. Or maybe it was just dumb without any bravery at all.

"Now, how about you, Maladict?" asked the thing in the armchair. "They told me you're into tradition."

There was a sharp indraw of breath. "Get lost," said Mal finally, for some reason lacking in the eloquence department just now.

The thing seemed to think about this, then got up. "I think I'll go find Benedict, then," it said airily, and was off, and there was less heartbeat in the room, and at the same time, more.

"Welcome to the wonderful world of humans, Polly," murmured Mal and let go of her.

Polly turned around, slowly so as to not make the room spin even more, to face Mal, reassure herself that everything was quite normal, thank you -

- only not -

Bare feet on a sticky floor, and a white nightgown without sleeves. Naked arms were splattered with red, as was the nightgown, as was the face, a face so familiar and yet completely different. There was a lot of tangled black hair, partly tied into an untidy knot, partly escaped from it or threatening to escape.

Reality had shattered like an old mirror shattered, inescapably and without a cause.

Oh _bugger_.

Maladicta spoke, and she spoke with Mal's voice.

"This is not real, Polly," she said. Again.

Yes, thought Polly. She knew that already. She took a deep breath, and her vision faltered, but didn't change in the end, and neither did the overwhelming scent, and the sound of dripping.

"Looks real enough to me," she said. A part of her wanted to go cry in a corner. It wasn't the one that took action, though.

The nightgown didn't actually have a collar, but Polly could grab one, while logic jumped out of the window. Out of the window -

- she liked the idea -

Polly found out that she was stronger than Maladicta, or maybe simply angrier. The window was there, and open, and that was were they ended up. A short glance told Polly that they were right above a bloody deep abyss.

Good.

Maladicta stumbled and fell backwards across the windowsill. Her feet weren't touching the floor anymore. Long-nailed fingers dug into Polly's arms, her back, grabbed her impossibly shiny, frilly clothes, trying to reach everything that promised some sort of support. Polly kept trying to peel those fingers off her, one after the other, and it would only be a matter of time -

"Afraid of heights, are we?" she asked sweetly, or, to be fair, as sweetly as her condition allowed. Polly was ready to admit that she very much had a condition. She hated it.

"Ye-es," said Mal, and Polly blinked, and for a moment that was Mal under her, in all her... ambiguity, reasonably sane and also frightened to death. Mal took that moment to arch up and sling her arms around Polly, and interlock her hands between Polly's back, and Polly fell forward, fell _down_ -

Only she didn't, steadying herself in the last second. Looking down, that was Maladicta again underneath her. All messy, tangled hair (impractical, cut it off), and silence, and the scent of -

She tried to claw off the arms wrapped around her, wanted to hit her but found she couldn't, not yet; it was too strange. Twice they nearly toppled over, and still fought.

"Let me in, Polly," whispered Maladicta, again in the voice of Mal. Nothing else changed, this time. Polly was so close to her face, and that rhythm was going impossibly fast, and still sped up when she began considering not the face, but the neck -

She'd wanted this the entire time, why deny that?

Polly closed her eyes. Her fingers felt for the high collar she remembered, and pushed it away. Her lips found the point that felt about right. It didn't matter much.

She could have sworn she felt Mal tilt her head somewhat underneath her, and the result was, to her surprise a... better access, of sorts. Was that done on purpose? Highly improbable, thought Polly, and then she thought no more.

She bit, deep, and there was a strangled cry of sorts, and then nothing, no breath, no voice, even that rhythm slowed down. The only thing left was the flow, sticky and salty and with just the tiniest hint of bitterness, of -

Coffee.

It was that hint that restored her sanity, at least partially, that, or Mal going completely limp underneath her. Polly felt Mal's arms sliding off her back, and Polly opened her eyes, and she saw Mal losing balance, and it was Mal, really Mal who was falling, no crazy woman in a blood-stained nightdress.

She reached wildly for Mal's arm and got a hold of it, and for a moment they were both falling, and then Polly's other hand caught the window frame, and they weren't. Polly dragged Mal in through the window, and Mal collapsed onto the floor, hands over her head, breathing heavily. Crying, maybe, Polly didn't dare to look.

This was not real. Couldn't be.

"C'mere, Polly," said Mal, finally, her voice weak and strained, but there. Polly couldn't not obey. She knelt down next to Mal, fully expecting to have her head ripped off before realizing that Mal wasn't quite capable of that right now.

Somehow, this was worse.

"I need -," said Mal, reaching for Polly's face.

Polly moved closer, not looking at her. "What do you need?" she asked.

Mal seemed to pull herself together for one moment. "I'm sorry, Polly, but I really can't waste anything at this moment," she said. Her hands were holding on to Polly's face, and she moved closer and -

It very much wasn't a kiss, because kisses were something completely different altogether. This was Mal getting something of her own back, softly licking over Polly's lips and face, which probably should have felt strange to Polly but didn't. Mal was being distinctly unsexy.

Yeah, well, as if that had been the point, anyway.

"Okay," said Mal in a slightly more normal voice. "Okay. Where did I put the coffee beans?" She got a lace-trimmed handkerchief out of the pocket of her waistcoat, and pressed it to her neck, wincing as she did so.

"Your pocket," said Polly.

"Oh," said Mal, "right." She dug the coffee bag out of the other pocket of her waistcoat, changing the hand holding the handkerchief in place as she did so. Her left hand came back covered in blood. She looked at it, lost in thought, and began to lick off her fingers carefully, one after the other.

She then proceeded to eat coffee beans in a calm and concentrated way.

Polly collapsed onto the bed. What she wanted, now, was to be somewhere else. The battlefield would do, she thought. An arrow in her side, a soldier's death. Nobody faced with immortality could possibly stay sane for long.

Strange, how things could slip away from you.

She wanted to say something, anything, but thought better of it. Not because she was afraid of being accused, or hit, or simply screamed at, but because she was afraid of Mal telling her it was okay and that she had expected this. She couldn't possibly spend that much time with someone who thought this kind of thing was okay.

"Get ready," said Mal, after too long a while. "We're leaving."

Polly didn't believe her ears. "Did something just happen or what?" she asked.

"Stay, then," said Mal, in a voice that was tired more than anything else. "You'll fit right in."


	11. Come and See the Daylight

**Note:** Pratchett's. Sorry for the delay (...exams). Here we go with chapter ten. The heroic twosome _finally_ gets to sort some things out.**  
**

**- **

**Plogviehze, Baby: Chapter 10. In which the colour purple is being bashed, haha.**

**-  
**

Mal got to her feet, steadying herself on the windowsill. Not bothering to look outside, she swiftly closed the window. They locked eyes for a moment, and Polly opened her mouth to reply, to desperately deny that no, she wouldn't fit in here, she was outraged at the very _idea_ -

"I apologise," said Mal. "Get your things, will you?"

There was a knock on the door.

"Mal -"

Mal raised a finger to her lips. "I know who that is," she said. "Don't say a word."

Polly worried, though. Mal folded up the collar of her black cloak and drew a hand through tangled black hair. She looked worse than Polly had ever seen her, except maybe as Maladicta, and given that Polly was quite eager on wiping that particular image from her memory, that didn't exactly count. Mal's face was drained of all colour, now, her eyes puffy, shadowed, her movements lacked any of their previous lightness as she walked over to the door and opened it.

There was a bit of mumbling. Polly didn't look over much, she was glad to be quite concealed in a dark corner of the room, but still strained her ears to listen.

"I found Hypovolemia," said the voice of Benedict. "Look, I'm - what happened?"

"Nothing," said Mal, and there was an edge to her voice.

"Yeah, right. Try again."

He knew, Polly thought. He knew and didn't do anything, so maybe this kind of general insanity was perceived as normal in vampire society. It scared her. Pretty much everything did, right now.

"Did you know they'd send Molly here as bait?" asked Mal sharply. "It was so fucking amusing the first time around, yes?"

"No," said Benedict. "I'm not into that kind of family entertainment."

"It certainly makes more sense than all the other conspirational theories I came up with," said Mal. She dragged a nervous hand through her hair. "You did bring us here in the first place, you know? You must admit that's a little suspect."

"I only had family reunion and general feelings of goodwill in mind," said Benedict.

"And can you say that again while keeping a straight face?"

There was no answer, just an innocent smile and some of that silent understanding that Polly wasn't even attempting to analyse, and it made them drop the subject.

"Why are you here?" said Mal finally.

"Saying goodbye," said Benedict. "I take it you're leaving the madhouse?"

"An amazing deduction," said Mal. "How the hell did you work that one out?"

Pause. "Female intuition?"

"Want to have something thrown at you?"

It didn't sound like siblings' banter, it was far too tired for that, if Polly was any judge. But it seemed an honest attempt.

"I'm leaving myself, tonight," said Benedict, "'s gonna be morning soon. That one's for you."

He got something out of his pocket and pressed it into Mal's hands. Polly craned her neck to see what it was, to no avail.

"Oh, good," said Mal, and slipped it into her jacket. "Will you pass Munz on your way?" she added, moving across the room to the pack to get something out of it. She looked at Polly for a moment, then looked away.

"I might be," said Benedict. "Why?"

"Got a letter to deliver," said Mal. "Address is on the front. Don't bite anyone."

"Sure thing," said Benedict, taking the letter and something else from her hands. "Hey, what's this?"

"Leaflet," said Mal. "Just in case you're up to a bit of adventure. They've got nice cocoa." Polly nearly heard her grinning.

"_Temperance League_," read Benedict. "_Come and see the daylight_. Mal, you great big sap. Call me superficial, but I'm not going to join anything that has cheerful orange and green leaflets."

"Ecnarepmet Itna should be safe from you then," said Mal. "Theirs are a very ghastly shade of purple."

"Goes nice with black, that's all I'm saying," said Benedict.

There was a moment, and a look, and then Mal pulled him into a tight embrace.

"Red goes nice with black," she mumbled. "Purple doesn't. Purple doesn't go nice with anything."

"And that from someone who's wearing ivory and scarlet. I was young and stupid when I thought that looked good, Mal, dear," said Benedict. "Promise you'll be careful?"

"'course," said Mal. "'s my middle name, careful."

There was a pause, in which they were just standing there, and then Benedict said, "I remember. What _was_ our mother thinking?"

"Might have been preemptive revenge," said Mal. "Teeth, remember?"

"Damn, I'm glad I'm not a -"

"Out," said Mal. "I hate drawn-out goodbyes. And don't you dare complete that sentence." She ruffled his hair, and he flattened it again, and all was good in the land of elegance.

And then, just for a moment, he was staring directly at Polly, and that was when Polly thought it had all been a farce and he was going to kill her, after all, but no. His face cracked into a thin smile, and he settled for an ironic salute. Exit Benedict. Thank _gods_.

There were a lot of things queuing up for Polly's tongue right now, but what emerged first was, "Maladicta Careful van der Zülln?"

"There's twenty-four names before that," said Mal. "I think Mum got bored, personally. Vampires like a bit of playing spot the odd-one-out at weddings and such."

"Has that ever been a topic?" asked Polly. "Wedding, I mean."

"What, mine?" asked Mal. "'course not. 's not my style, getting married and suchlike."

"... Ah," said Polly. It shouldn't have relieved her the way it did, but after a night like this, the existence of a dark and handsome husband and seven neurotic children would have been the final goddamn straw, "Who's the letter to, then?"

Mal looked away. She slowly took the black ribbon off her waistcoat and then began wriggling herself out of assorted layers of clothing, putting the wrapped arrow aside.

"Shufti," she said.

Damn, thought Polly. Did you have to wait until you were in your underwear before telling me? And then she thought, oh _dear_, when she realised something. Shufti and Paul and her father -

"They must have received my death notification by now," said Polly. At least her name was short enough to fit into the blank, she thought numbly.

"That's why I was writing," said Mal. "I dropped her a note to tell her you were, you know, alive and it was all a big misunderstanding."

She was putting on her old clothes now, army breeches and the ruffly shirt from the inn.

"You realise that I should have been the one to do that," said Polly softly. "I didn't even think of it."

"Yeah, well," said Mal, pinning the ribbon back into place, "you were a bit preoccupied."

"So were you," said Polly. "And it's not even your family. You've made me a monster, Mal."

Mal was dragging her hands through her hair, repeatedly and to no avail. Her look still completely surpassed deshabille, becoming something else entirely.

"Spare me your self-pity," she said, looking up. "Nobody's been distributed so far. You forgot to write home, Polly. Hardly the same."

"See, I told you that you don't get the human thing," said Polly, as Mal was calmly putting on her boots. "We write home regularly. We don't say 'good' when we hear daddy's been eaten. We certainly don't form extremist groups just 'cause a bunch of tree-huggers has gone on an environment-friendly diet."

"Ha," said Mal. "You've been to the battlefields, Polly. Tell me again that humans don't do death. They are as good at death as vampires are at stupid."

"Er," said Polly, and paused to think. "Why say stupid when sociopathic, nutty and arrogant all do the job?"

"Stupid," said Mal. "You'd think they'd be glad about less competition, but no, let's just shoot everyone. Just like humans, in a way."

Polly thought for a while. It was ugly, yes. She had rejoined the army with a notebook full of addresses and a head full of good intentions, and had got caught up in routine and then _in a court martial_, because it seemed the army didn't like pacifism. No more writing to journalists for her. Instead, she'd been rounding up new recruits, and there were always some to be round up, even now, and she was always hoping, just hoping she'd get into a position to do something.

And then, there were battles, and there was Mal, who bore the craziness with her, and somewhere along the way something -

- cracked. Just like that.

"What the hell did you write?" she asked.

"The truth," said Mal, shrugging, but Polly had been sergeant for too long.

"Okay," she said. "Lemme rephrase. What did you leave out?"

"Everything that would have made Shufti come after me with blazing torches and suchlike," said Mal. "Thought I'd leave the best parts for later. Now, can you please get a move on?"

"Oh," said Polly. "Yeah, I suppose." She got up from the bed to collect various clothing items from the floor. Mal was eating coffee beans again as Polly stripped, succeeding in getting off the impossible shawl thing and the waistcoat and the frock, only running into a dead end with -

Oh no, she thought. Mal looked up.

Without a comment, she came over to help with the buttons. Polly was impressed. Mal was quick and efficient in opening the rows of tiny buttons on the sleeves of her shirt and on the gloves, even though her hands were shaking.

"Wow," said Polly, not thinking much at this moment. "You're really good at helping people out of their clothes."

There was a silence that made Polly distinctly uncomfortable. "Er," she volunteered after a moment, and that made it worse. A hole in the ground would have been _perfect_.

"Yes," said Mal.

Well, thought Polly. It wasn't as if this was unexpected. Mal returned to her coffee bag, and she returned to undressing, and this was all wrong.

Polly put on the woolly socks over the silk stockings, because she so wasn't going to let Mal help with those now. She put on the army breeches, and her boots, and the polka-dotted atrocity of a shirt, and her jacket. Much better now.

All the while, Mal was leaning against the wall, looking tired and stressed out and not fit for great heaps of snow, and Polly realised this was sort of entirely her fault.

"Mal -" she began.

Mal looked up. "I am over two hundred years old, Polly," she said. "What did you expect?"

"I -," began Polly, and stopped. This so didn't fall under the category of not talking about things. "I didn't think much about that, to be honest." Well, thought Polly, maybe not entirely honest. More like completely dishonest, to be honest. Damn.

"Ah," said Mal, and then said nothing.

"Don't you get uncomfortable now," said Polly, "I've got enough uncomfortable for the both of us. For once, I'm really sorry I tried to, you know, push you out of the window."

"It's a vampire thing," said Mal. "Find the enemy's weak spot. And of course, windows are popular in general."

Polly groaned. "You're not _supposed_ to be my enemy," she said. _And I'm not supposed to be a vampire_, a part of her brain added. "You are once again not getting my inner turmoil, to say it in your words."

"I think I am, in fact, getting your inner turmoil this time, and then some," said Mal, while Polly's brain formed itself into one single giant _whoops_. "And I practically volunteered for that sort of thing," she added. "Maybe we shouldn't have waited that long. Would have been a bit less painful, maybe."

"Ack," said Polly. "Sorry. I -"

"What made you stop?"

"Er," said Polly. "It's all a bit hazy, really. I think you looked like - like Maladicta for a while, and then you didn't," _and this is all very surreal_, "and then you, er, tasted like coffee, and by that point I guess I was too confused to, you know, carry on."

Mal nodded her head, slowly. "Explains a lot." And then, her face lit up a little. "I taste like coffee?"

"Er," said Polly. "A bit. You know. It's only to be expected."

She walked over over to where Mal was standing and still eating coffee beans. Behind her, she could see the first light of the morning sun through the thankfully closed window.

"Try them," said Mal, offering her the coffee bag. "You've got to find yourself a substitute soon, anyway. Coffee's not too bad."

Polly carefully took one. She would have tried anything right now, if only to get the metallic taste out of her mouth. The bean cracked under her teeth. Mal was right, she thought, it really wasn't bad; bitter, but not too much so, and warm, and tasting of - Mal.

She swallowed. Well.

"How do you feel, Mal?" she asked.

"Better than last time," said Mal. "Honestly. Not great, but reasonably capable of dealing with great big heaps of snow. Speaking of which, we should hurry. As much as I enjoy conversation."

"Speaking of great big heaps of snow, and of being reasonable," said Polly, "do you think people would mind terribly if we nicked a coach and horses, after all?"

"Yeah, they would," said Mal, a sly grin playing on her lips. "That's a really great idea, Polly. Let's get going, then." She moved from her lounging spot and, Polly saw it, nearly collapsed. Polly held her up until she was reasonably steady, and then let go, or at least, she tried to.

"Er," said Mal. "Could you maybe just hold me for a while?"

Polly couldn't believe her ears. "Why would you want that?" she asked.

"Because," said Mal, "I feel a bit unwell. Thank you all the same."

"Oh," said Polly. "All right, then."

She closed her eyes, and picked up things, the way Mal's heartbeat seemed all tired and confused, quick and without any real pressure behind it; the way her breathing seemed flat; the way her arms were around Polly as if she was drowning, and not quite sure how to prevent that. The way her skin was so cold, and it was al Polly's fault.

"Liar," Polly whispered. "You're not fit for anything."

"I can deal," said Mal, and then she said nothing more. Polly carefully let her hand stroke over the back of Mal's neck, then her hair, then her face. Not crying; Mal never was, no matter how crazy things got. But one might have got the impression that she wanted to.

"D'you suppose they'll be after us?" asked Polly, finally, when all had been taken care of.

"Not until tonight," said Mal. "They're traditional. We can make some way before then."

By now, sunlight was streaming through the window. Polly picked up the pack while Mal was staring at the piece of paper Benedict had given her, brows furrowed, and when they were ready to leave, she crumpled it and put in in her pocket.

-

Any change of scenery was welcome after the castle, and so Polly did her best to enjoy the cool, windy winter morning that awaited them. She succeeded for almost half an hour before she was back to brooding. Holding on to the reins with frozen fingers, she wished she had brought the impossible satin gloves after all, buttons be damned.

She was alone in the coachman's seat, the reasons being, one, Mal was sleeping inside the coach, which was probably best for everyone concerned, and two, the horses were terrified of her. It was a vampire thing, she had explained. Horses were okay with Igors, but never with vampires.

And Polly? Still too human, probably. This should have cheered her up. It didn't, because it was snowing again. The multiverse was one mean bastard. Or many, same thing.

The silence was getting to her. It was strange, thought Polly. They had spent a week with only each other to talk to, if you didn't count a bunch of bloody crazy vampires - wait, make that other bloody crazy vampires -, and Polly didn't. Still, it was only on a rare occasion that she'd had more than five minutes to herself, and while it did help her think straight, it also made her feel incredibly uneasy.

They were two, and they'd only had each other for quite a while now, which implied all kinds of cozy buddy stuff, but really it only boiled down to one thing: there was only one person in the whole of the Ramtops who was near enough to be shouted at, strangled (kissed). It wasn't really anything personal, but it should have been. Shouting and strangling and kissing shouldn't all be so damn random.

Snowflakes were settling in her hair.

Unhealthy, that was it. If you had just attempted to throw somebody out of the window, you sure as hell weren't qualified to hold them the next minute, even if it felt sort of good. Especially if it felt sort of good. And if you just had almost been thrown out of a window, you sure as hell shouldn't seek comfort in the one who did the throwing, 'cos that was just as messed up.

And then there was the thing they weren't talking about, months ago, when Polly had said "You realise this doesn't mean anything?", and Mal had cracked a smile, and said, "I do," and gone on with the kissing, had, in fact, gone on with it several times, because things never affected her the way they affected Polly, just like the battlefields didn't touch her, either.

They'd buried some of their own lads. Afterwards, Mal had been drinking coffee, leaving the orientation lecture to Polly. And, strangest of all, there was something comforting about the way Mal remained untouched through all of this, because it meant there was a way to live through the madness without cracking. Polly had tried to be like that, and it had almost worked.

Which was, of course, a lie.

She heard Mal stirring inside the coach, then waking, than moving about for several minutes. Polly tried to talk the horses into slowing down somewhat, just in case. Not that they listened or anything.

The coach door opened while they were still skipping merrily ahead.

"Damn, Mal, you could have just asked me to stop," she called through the wind and the snow. Well, she _could_ have asked, really, Polly thought, eyeing the unimpressed horses in front of her.

"Don't worry," came the reply. "Done this... ah... a thousand times."

"Literally?"

Mal was climbing alongside the coach, holding on to bits and pieces of the highly decorated vehicle, then swinging herself into the coachman's seat next to Polly.

"Of course not," she said. "More like twice."

"Ah," said Polly. "So your career as a highwayman was short-lived, then?"

"Well," said Mal, grinning, and said nothing more. She was holding - and Polly tried not to stare here - a steaming mug filled with coffee. Actually, she was trying to put it down on the seat next to her, which would have been a terrible waste. The road was too bumpy.

"It pains me to watch that," said Polly.

"Watch the road, then?"

"Just let me hold it," said Polly as exasperation took over. She could easily hold the reins with just one hand, although the horses, she noticed, were already getting uncomfortable. Polly figured there was no direction to run away to for them but straight ahead, on account of there being walls of snow to their left and and a river to their right, and even if they did, the coach would still be attached to them, so all was good.

Polly was not a horse person, except when it came to scubbo and helping inebriated patrons, or Blouse, into the saddle.

"What was it you wanted?" she asked.

"Lean a bit forward, will you?" asked Mal, and Polly felt her draping a woolly blanket over her shoulders, careful to also cover her neck and arms, and tucking it in. Polly nearly spilt some of the coffee, but that was something you just tended to avoid around Mal, carefully so.

"Figured you were cold," said Mal while wrapping her own cloak tighter around herself.

"I was," said Polly. "Thanks."

For a while, nobody said a word, and Mal leaned against Polly, head on her shoulder, sipping coffee all the while. It looked a little uncomfortable, but Polly had once seen Mal drinking coffee while hanging upside down in a cellar. This shouldn't pose a problem, not for Mal.

The scent of it filled Polly's senses, but in a good way, a homely way. A sunday morning in The Duchess, making coffee for some of the more eccentric guests, back when the world had seemed entirely figurable. Only, Polly remembered there was milk involved, and sometimes sugar, even whipped cream. They had none of that here.

"Want some?" asked Mal.

Polly supposed there was no harm in trying. "Okay then," she said.

The mug was raised to her lips and she tilted her head just so and, Polly thought, something like this shouldn't work without any spilling, but it did. Mal was _good_ with coffee.

The taste was just like coffee beans, only hot, and liquid and really, not bad at all.

"Like that?" asked Mal.

"It's okay, I guess," said Polly. "Nothing to write home about." Whoops. Polly figured she was a bit preoccupied with past events. "Have we decided upon a route yet?" she added.

"Probably best to just follow the river," said Mal. "There's bound to be villages and stuff. I do not know a terrible lot about horses, but I suspect there's feeding involved every once in a while."

"Yeah," said Polly. "Same with us. That's a problem, right?"

"Probably," said Mal. "If I remember folklore right, you should be all right with solid food for the next few days, though. Maybe we can even make it to Ankh-Morpork." She paused. "Of course, there's always the situation on the coffee front. Sorry about that."

"Right," said Polly. "You've got quite the easy-going attitude about other people's lives, Mal."

"Yeah, right, I'm a soldier," said Mal. There was an edge in her voice that Polly hadn't detected before. "Anyway, I promise you you're not going to bite people if I can help it."

_Yeah_, thought Polly, _except when you're getting needy yourself_. She'd seen it happen.  
"What was that bit about bein' a soldier?" she asked.

"You know," said Mal, almost absent-mindedly taking Polly's right hand and closing it around the coffee mug for warmth. "I've been thinking, Polly."

"That's great," said Polly. "What is it, Mal?"

Mal lifted her head to look up to Polly.

"I won't be coming back to Borogravia with you," she said.

There was nothing to say here, so Polly concentrated on the white around her.

"Why?" she asked after a while.

"I was planning on deserting anyway," said Mal.

"Are you quite sure about this?" asked Polly.

"To be entirely honest, I'd have packed up a year ago if it hadn't been for -"

"For what?" asked Polly.

"Nothing," said Mal.

Staring straight ahead, Polly managed to lift the eyebrow closer to Mal. A new-found talent, she realised.

"What I mean is," said Mal, "a month ago we were fighting for a town that was completely abandoned to begin with, and as soon as we had won, some complete genius had us burn it down so the enemy wouldn't bother to reclaim it. We're fighting for dead land, Pol."

"I know that," said Polly. "But as long as we're trying to -"

"We're not allowed to even talk to anyone outside the army," said Mal. "Our great and cunning plan has failed, and somehow I can't bring myself to care anymore."

"... Okay," said Polly.

That was it, then. Nobody left from the original squad now, except her, and she'd have to figure out how to go on alone, and... _okay_.

She wasn't sure how to go about that. During the last few weeks before that battle, she'd hardly found enough energy inside her to properly shout at the lads, and lads needed a good shouting every now and then, to remind them they were in the army. Not that they needed reminding, it was just -

- everyday insanity. It was expected.

"You needn't return to the army," said Polly. "They can be a little one-dimensional, they won't be figuring the stake-and-knife thing out anytime soon. What's wrong with Borogravia? Apart from the obvious?"

"I thought the obvious was already a pretty good reason never to come back," pointed Mal out. "The League Whose Name Cannot Be Pronounced needs looking into, and that'll fulfill my superhero quota for a few years." A pause, and softly, "I've got a few names."

"How many?" asked Polly.

Mal hesitated, looking away, her hand halfway to the pocket of her cloak.

"Benedict gave me a list," she said.

"So he's on our side, then?"

"I suppose," said Mal. "I don't know. He probably doesn't care much either way, or wouldn't if I wasn't involved."

"That's a good thing to know," said Polly, "considering _you sent him to my family_."

"Oh, he won't bite anyone," said Mal. "Fun fact about vampires. I'm older than him, he won't hurt those under my protection. Neat, huh?"

"Vampirism is getting weirder by the minute," said Polly. "How convenient. Are you going to hunt them down, or something?"

"Who?"

"The names," said Polly. "I mean, it's probably none of my business, but that might be a little dangerous, I suppose."

"Er," said Mal. "I was planning to go public first. Nothing wrong with recycling good ideas, right?" She flashed a smile.

"Yeah," said Polly. "Now, don't get me wrong, but vampires are used to bad publicity. Do you really think anyone would _care_?"

Mal shrugged. "Quickest way to warn Black Ribboners. They like the newspaper with their cocoa and scone."

"And after that?" asked Polly, thinking: _great idea, Mal. Throw stones at the wasps' nest. See if I care._

"I dunno," said Mal from somewhere at Polly's shoulder. "I hear Uberwald's pretty in the springtime."

Crivens, thought Polly. Did your mother not teach you anything about taking care of yourself, not walk the streets at night - um -, or anything along those lines, Maladicta Careful van der Zülln?

Well, probably not, but -

"You realise that's suicide," she said.

From a nearby tree, a bird leapt. The old snow crunched under the wheels of the carriage, and there was Mal just next to her, being all fragile all of a sudden. Daft ideas didn't stop being daft ideas just because you were almost immortal.

"I'm on their blacklist anyway," said Mal. "Or whitelist, I dunno. And I can't help but point out, Polly, that soldiering is generally considered anything but healthy."

"I know," said Polly. "About that -"

Polly looked over. She knew Mal wouldn't like it.

"... What is it, Polly?" she asked, rather reluctantly.

"Mal, I have got to ask," said Polly. "I'm sorry. Why did you bite me?"

For a while, there was only silence, while Mal leaned back into the seat, sipping coffee.

"I already tried to explain this," she said, after a while. "Several times, Polly. It's pointless to ask if you're not going to believe what I say."

"I know what you told me," said Polly. "About Death and scythes and such, but - "

"You don't remember that, so what difference does it make?" said Mal, "I could tell you anything and you won't believe that either."

"I don't remember a single thing," said Polly, "but I, um," a pause, because this was harder to admit than she'd thought, "I think I might start to believe you. Clearly, I must have lost my mind, but -"

One the back of one of the horses, Tiny Death gave a Tiny Snicker. Polly noticed Mal was looking at her, before following her glance.

Mal blinked, and looked again.

"I see," she said.

"But that was all a friendly chat over tea with a personified concept," said Polly. "You told me I asked you to, you know, and you told me about the reaper man being, in your words, unreasonable, but I still don't know why you _acted_ on that."

There was another pause.

"Mal?" she volunteered.

"I don't get humans," said Mal, still staring at the tiny black-clad figure on the horse's back. "It's like this... er, we as a species have... Polly, this is a little embarrassing, okay? We're... afraid of death. There. That's why we can be killed. We can get used to sunlight by telling ourselves it won't hurt us, and yet a camera flash kills us because it doesn't leave us time for logical thought. We just panic."

Tiny Death lifted its scythe in what an overly tired brain might have interpreted as a salute. It vanished in a Tiny Flash of blue light.

"Yes, but what does that have to do with anything?" asked Polly.

"I'm coming to that," said Mal. "We do not get on well with the reaper man. He doesn't like us because he feels we're wasting his time, and we don't like him because... we don't like him. And I thought -," her voice trailed off.

"You thought?"

"I thought it was the same for humans," said Mal softly. "I thought, what with humans being so delicate all the time and dying left and right and centre, they must be deadly afraid of... er... they must be afraid of death, and it turns out they aren't, you aren't, I mean, and I didn't know. I never thought you'd choose death over life as a vampire, and now you keep telling me you would."

Mal paused.

"I realise I should have guessed," she added, "what with having spent enough time around you to know that you're not afraid of much of anything. I should have known your... request was out of panic, which isn't the same as fear at all. I'm sorry."

_That is how you see me?_ thought Polly. _And you've known me for how long?_

"But we are afraid," she said, "I am afraid. Was, at least. I'm a soldier, Mal, and most of the time I was scared shitless. You know that."

"That's different," said Mal, "that's being afraid of dying, rather than death. Which is really quite sensible, considering that most of the time it hurts a lot."

"You're picking at semantics there," said Polly.

"Hardly," said Mal.

"What does it matter to you?" asked Polly. It wasn't loud, but it didn't have to be. "With your completely superficial fear of death, do you even know what it's like to be sensibly scared of dying, every single fucking day?"

"I certainly know that," said Mal. "Being scared."

"Ha," said Polly. "Watching humans tremble prettily doesn't count as knowing scared."

"Whenever we dug a grave for someone," said Mal, "I kept imagining it was your turn to be buried. I thought I could get used to the thought by thinking about it until it got boring, but it got scarier every day. Every. Single. Fucking. Day." She paused, and rubbed her eyes. "And if you were looking for selfishness in my actions, there you have it. Happy?"

The carriage jumped, once.

"Mal?"

"Polly?"

Polly hadn't known she'd been holding her breath, but she breathed now. "Thank you for getting angry," she said.

"I'm not," said Mal.

"Oh yes, you are," said Polly. "And you should be. I realise now -," _that I am about as eloquent as an... orang-utan, or something,_ "- that voluntarily burdening oneself with an unstable unreformed vampire is... horribly unwise and possibly also sorty horribly over-confident, and I'm _still_ not sure if I like the outcome, but I'm beginning to understand you were just trying to be nice."

"Polly, dear," said Mal, "a little less sarcasm does an apology good."

"I know," said Polly, "but frankly, I'm having a hard time thinking of ways to say 'sorry for trying to kill you all the time' without it sounding all sorts of sarcastic, so you just have to take my word for it. I'm sorry, Mal. I really am."

"It was three attempted murders in five days. Not a bad average for an unreformed vampire, really," said Mal off-handedly, but Polly caught her brief smile.

"And while we're at the teary-eyed apologies -," added Mal.

"I'm _not_ teary-eyed -"

"I knew what might happen, and I might have made a better-prepared impression if it hadn't been for bloody fear of heights, and I realise now that I might have been possibly sort of maybe a bit vague about things, and I promise I'll be better," said Mal. "Also, I realise I gravitate towards arrogance, but that's personality and you'll have to live with that."

"I think I can," said Polly, breathing out. So there was hope, after all. "Good. Was there anything else we wanted to sort out?"

Mal shrugged. "Dunno. Kiss and make up?"

Polly turned to look at her. "You didn't just say that," she said.

"Well, we were sorting things out," said Mal. "And this has been nagging at me for ages." She was still sipping coffee, Polly noticed. Possibly, she had finally figured out how to make a cup last for an entire conversation.

Also -

"You are _impossible_, Mal."

"No," said Mal. "Merely old enough to know that wistfully contemplating the graceful curve of someone's elbow when you think they aren't looking is _not_ the way to go about things. Sarge."

Polly growled. "I never stared at your elbow," she said.

"Or any other part of the anatomy, really," said Mal. Looking over, she added, "It was a _figure of speech_, Pol."

"Impossible," said Polly. "Just when things started to get uncomplicated."

She dared to glance sidewards, and met... rather a lot amusement, considering it was conveyed by one single eyebrow. It was amazing, really.

"Hey, Pol?"

"Yes, Mal?"

"You're smiling."

Polly felt she had to protest. "'m most definitely not!"

"Are, too," said Mal. "You know, I missed that."

"Missed what?" Deadpan.

"You, smiling," said Mal, patiently.

"I am maybe showing teeth in an expression of nervousness, Mal," said Polly. "Because you are making me nervous, Mal."

"No, I'm making the _horses_ nervous," Mal pointed out. "You're smiling, not twitching."

"Nervously, Mal," said Polly.

Mal grinned, and winked. "I suppose I should get back inside," she said, as the carriage shook dangerously. "The horses seem a wee bit unhappy by now."

"Very sensible," said Polly.

The horses were probably this close from losing it completely, she thought. One of them was frothing. This couldn't be normal.

Mal had already swung a leg over the railing, when Polly added, "So is this a new start kind of thing, then?"

"Could be," said Mal. "Granted, vampires aren't generally very good at this, which explains all the family feuds, but -"

"Neither are humans, Mal," said Polly. "It explains all the wars."

They locked eyes for a moment, and thankfully, Mal abstained from sarcasm. Well, almost. She did salute, and nearly fell off the carriage in the process.

Polly snickered, and Mal climbed back, and for a while, Polly felt a little lighter.


	12. A Bit Cold Maybe

**Note: **no note this time, actually. It's all Pratchett's.

**- **

**Plogviehze, Baby: Chapter 11. In which there is _cabbage._**

**-**

"I didn't know there'd be a waterfall," said Mal.

They could see the Sto Plains from here, which was probably a good thing. Of course, the Sto Plains were also a few hundred yards below them, which was maybe not quite as good a thing.

Oh well.

Polly tied the horses to a tree. She'd fed them the last of the horse bread. They didn't seem to like it much, either, but had put up with it after Mal had glared at them for a while in a jolly and unthreatening manner.

"Never mind," said Polly. "There's a path down, and it isn't _that_ much of a waterfall, really. Couple more hours, maybe. I can see a village from here."

Life was actually nicer when one was cooperating, she found.

"You must be tired," said Mal.

Polly was. It had been twenty-four hours since she'd last slept, and come to think about it, enough had happened in them to last a her a lifetime.

Well, maybe not a lifetime, considering what counted for lifetimes under these circumstances -

"Tell you what," she said, "I'll take a nap and you can wake me in an hour or so. Think the horses need a break as well."

"All right, then," said Mal. "Damn. I realise I'm a bit useless right now. With the horses, and such."

"Nah, it's all right," said Polly, almost grinning. "Got any pillow-like qualities you may provide to the cause?" Upon reconsideration, Polly carefully added an, "Um." That must have been the tiredness talking.

One should hope so.

An eyebrow was raised. "Um?"

"Um," Polly confirmed.

"Oh."

The inside of the carriage was a bit cramped, but better than a tent, and Polly curled up on the very nice upholstery. Vampires must be overcompensating for their lack of beds, she thought. All this plush and velvet and softness was only there to make them feel better about their unheated cellars and bare rafters.

"You know," said Mal, opposite her, knees tucked under her chin and looking disgustingly comfortable. "You should really carry a stake. I mean that."

Polly yawned. "Anyone after us?" she asked.

"Not until dusk," said Mal. "After that, things could get a bit ugly."

"I really admire your cheerful and uplifting nature," said Polly. She cracked her eyes open again, and Mal gave her a tiny grin.

"Sleep?" suggested Mal.

Polly tried to, she shut her eyes and put forth a reasonable attempt at trying to fall asleep with a determination one would invest in marching, or spooning down cardboard scubbo. But there were things that needed figuring out, and Polly was nothing if not naturally curious.

"Mal?" she asked, aware of how tired her voice must sound.

"Hm?"

"Why does your mother hate you?"

There was a pause. Polly was almost on the verge of dozing off when Mal answered.

"She doesn't," said Mal. "I hope. She hates humans and thinks associating with them is an expression of self-loathing combined with a death wish, and you can't have that in your family."

"What happened that she hates humans so much?"

"Do you have to have a reason for hatred?"asked Mal, softly. Polly considered the upholstery, and sleeping, but curiousity, naturally, won.

"Well, _ye-es_," she said. "Even if it's just being dropped on the head as a baby. Was she dropped on the head as a baby?"

"Funny you should say that," said Mal.

For a while, the only sound was the whistling of the wind outside, the soft scratch of cotton on velvet as Polly tried to get more comfortable.

"Tell," she demanded.

"Mob," said Mal. "Stormed the castle, were badly prepared, frustrated at their own ineffectivity, threw one of my mother's very tiny children out of the window. She made no attempt to get over it."

"Huh," said Polly, and thought about it. She glanced up at Mal. "Did the kid live?" she asked, sitting up and rubbing her eyes.

"'course," said Mal. "I think it was the thought behind it that pissed her off."

Polly lay back again. "Good," she said, and thought about it some more. "So she counters misdirected anger with misdirected anger, yes?"

"Yes," said Mal. "It's a bit like war, really."

Polly turned her head to look at Mal. Her eyes narrowed when a thought surfaced.

"Hey, is that why you're afraid of heights?"

Mal's face looked perfectly blank. "I didn't say it was me, did I?"

"You didn't have to," said Polly, closing her eyes. "It's obvious," she added, her voice barely above a whisper. She really was quite tired, and still -

Polly's thoughts drifted off. Something about immortality and how it was frightening and maybe whatever Mal had been looking for in the army was a bit of mortality to keep her sane -

Not much sanity to find in places where any notion of future only ever reached as far as the next battle, or until spring. And maybe that was why Polly had said what she said. It didn't mean anything; there was too little context for it to mean anything in.

She listened for a a while. Mal's heartbeat sounded faint and grew fainter as the time passed. She felt she was being watched, but that was almost okay. The inside of the coach really was quite nice, and safe.

When she awoke, she was alone, somewhat concerned by the fact, but it was still bright outside, and she was covered by Mal's cloak. It was a very nice cloak, she thought faintly. So warm, considering.

Polly got up to open the door, and -

"Eurgh," she said.

Outside, Mal was just finishing chopping bits off a piece of wood. She held it at arm's length, a slightly uneasy smile on her lips.

"There," said Mal. "Bit on the sharp side. Be careful with that."

"Thanks, Mal," said Polly. "You know, when I got useful presents before, they mostly turned out to be warm underpants." She took the thing gingerly and put it into the inside pocket of her jacket, with the pointy bit pointing down, to avoid accidental pointy death. That would just be embarrassing.

"Do I hear you defaulting to lingerie, Polly?" asked Mal with a grin.

"Two words, Mal," said Polly. "Warm. Underpants. Not a vampire thing, really."

"Oh, we've got nothing against warmth," said Mal. "Come here."

"Er," said Polly, while her brain still tried to wrap itself around all possible implications of that first sentence. "Why?"

"Because," said Mal, "you are anatomically challenged. Give me your hand."

"Mal!"

"Should have listened that first time," said Mal, taking Polly's hand and raising it to her chest.

"So, Pol," she said. "A vampire's heart is... not there, and not there, and if you try that point the vampire in question may get a little sarcastic. It's right here, all right?"

"Okay," said Polly, painfully aware of Mal's heartbeat underneath her palm. "Right here. Are you done being insufferable now?"

Mal let go of her hand. "You've got to know these things," she said. "Want a lecture about ribs? Dead useful if you haven't got the chance to rummage around first."

"I do not want a lecture about ribs," said Polly. "What's wrong with just chopping their heads off?"

"If you want them to keep talking to you," said Mal with a shrug. "At least, after a stake, vampires are mercifully silent."

"I hate you," said Polly, while she climbed into the coachman's seat to get as far away from stakes and anatomy as possible. "In a completely non-affectionate kind of way. You are impossible, Mal."

"Yes, I think you mentioned that already," said Mal from below. She winked.

And then they were on the road again, downwards and downwards again. By sunset, they still hadn't reached the plains, and just after it had grown fully dark, Polly heard a creaking behind her.

That crazy woman -

"Mal, you could fall off," said Polly, "and break your bones in a most distressing way, and then I'd have to listen to the whining."

She looked up, and sure enough, a head was visible over the edge of the coach.

"It's called a lookout, Polly," said Mal. "I like feeling involved. Also, I figured we might be followed."

"Suit yourself," said Polly. "I thought you were afraid of heights?"

There was more rumbling and the head vanished.

"Ack, if you're putting it like that -," said Mal, her voice suddenly uneasy. "I mean, I've got to work on those intrinsic fears some day. Besides, I'm not that far up, and I take great care not to look down and I'm really not all that afraid of heights at all. Um."

"They're flying, then?"

"Yep," said Mal. "At least, that's what I'd do, if, y'know, I'd do that. Nobody around so far, anyway."

"Good," said Polly, concentrating on the road again. Surely these horses knew what do do? The path was a little bit on the steep side, she supposed, but it couldn't be that hard, walking in a straight line, even if you had to coordinate four legs.

Polly was thinking.

"You know, Mal," she said, and stopped. Damn morals getting in the way of everything.

"What is it?"

"If we're being followed, how can we justify spending the night in a village?" asked Polly.

"Er," said Mal. "The horses, I suppose. Can't leave them out there."

"Ah," said Polly. "Anything else? 'cos I can't say that convinced me, and I'd really like you to convince me, you know?"

Above her on the roof of the carriage, there was the distinct silence of someone who was trying to think creatively under less than ideal conditions.

"That's psychology," said Mal, finally. "Vampires on a mission tend to get a little single-minded about things. They'll follow us, not anyone else."

Polly groaned. "That's fantastic, Mal."

"Look, you wanted convincing. If you wanted uplifting instead, you should have said so," said Mal. "Second, if they want a snack, they'll go and get it," she added. "We won't get far enough from any village at all."

"I'll go for the uplifting, then. Please, Mal."

There was some more shifting above as Mal tried to go from lying on her back, watching the sky, to lying on her stomach, watching ahead.

"Well, I think we're almost there," she said, "and I think there's lights, and I think it isn't too late for us to get a room in the inn, and they've probably got coffee. And a _bathtub_."

Ah, thought Polly. Do I hear you getting single-minded? When in stress, think of bathtubs?

How'd she pull _that_ off back in the army?

"And you're sure they're not going to throw us out right away?"

"Nah," said Mal. "Let them try."

"Mal!"

"Well, I've got the ribbon, and you look like a farm lad anyway," said Mal.

"Thank you so very much," said Polly.

"Well, it's the polka dots, they don't exactly scream 'sergeant'. Just remember not to smile at anyone, I'd say, and we'll be fine."

_We'll be fine_, thought Polly. _Didn't think I'd hear that one again_.

In fact, nobody attacked them at all, and when Polly had stopped the carriage (after a lot of experimental tugging at the reins and saying, 'stop, you daft buggers'), Mal fell off the carriage roof, rather than climb down, but she did it with the elegance of a cat. She even managed to land on her feet.

"You're a lovely little icicle, Mal," said Polly.

"Yes," said Mal, "amazingly enough, that's _exactly_ how I'm feeling."

Polly felt a bit chilly herself, and tired, held on her feet only by the prospect of a real bed, with a pillow and... stuff, and a nightshirt, and -

The door opened, revealing a rather inviting square of yellow light behind it. Out came a boy of maybe eighteen, who said something in a language they didn't understand.

"Hi!" said Mal, turning to him in a very clever movement that involved the light falling dramatically on the ribbon. Polly saw the boy taking notice. "D'you understand me?" asked Mal in Morporkian.

The boy turned his palms outward in a universal gesture. No, then.

"... Bugger," said Mal under her breath.

At this point, there began an exchange of pointing and gesticulating and cursing in Borogravian and cursing in whatever language they spoke around here, and held-up fingers and words that you knew the other wouldn't understand, but took great care to speak slowly and clearly anyway.

At the end, the boy grinned and took off with the horses.

"What did you tell him?" asked Polly, finally grinning the grin she'd been trying to conceal during the entire exchange.

"Well," said Mal, "I _think_ he's the guy who runs errands around here, and I _think_ I tried to convince to him to take the horses to the stables. I sure hope he didn't understand kitchen instead."

"Or he's a horse thief who can't believe his luck," said Polly. "Shall we go inside, then?"

"Yeah, did you think we'd wait until after spring or something?" asked Mal. "After you. And don't smile."

They were a good team, Polly found out. She herself was good with inns, and Mal was reasonably competent with getting her point across, and so they didn't only manage to get a room, but dinner, too, even though the innkeeper went to great lengths to watch Mal actually drinking the beer he'd offered. That was okay, though, it wasn't bad, for beer, and Polly suspected the man had every right to be nervous. She'd have been, anyway.

"Er, Mal?" she said at some point. "Do we have money?"

Mal smiled. "Dear child," she said, "of course we have money. I nicked some coins off our Uberwaldean friends."

Polly stared, not even bothering to comment upon the dear child part of it.

"You didn't," she said.

Mal shrugged and Polly went on tugging at a lump of rare-ish meat and a rather bigger lump of cooked cabbage. It was the most boring dish Polly had ever encountered, but she'd take that over the excitement offered by a bowl of scubbo any day.

She tried to stifle a yawn and failed. It was high time she got into a bed, she thought. Just finish that funny food here, and get upstairs and sleep and all will be well.

"Tired?" asked Mal.

"Can we finish?" asked Polly. "Can we get upstairs? Failing that, can we please just fall down and sleep, here and now?"

Mal looked amused. "D'you think you'll need carrying?" she asked.

Polly finished with great effort, got up, went around the table and tugged at Mal's collar, who seemed to get the message. She rose and waved to the innkeeper, who came to show them up to their room.

He was pretty quick to vanish, though, leaving only a faint hint of garlic smell.

"Lovely, innit?" said Mal, when they were finally alone. "Look, they've got rafters. Very thoughtful."

"Yes," said Polly, "and a bed. Dunno about you, but I'm going to get horizontal right now."

As dignified as possible, Polly collapsed onto the narrow bed, shedding her boots and the better part of her clothes. Off with the polka-dotted nightmare, she thought. Off with the - whoops, still wearing the silk stockings. Off!

"You do that," said Mal, absent-mindedly, as Polly crawled into the blankets, making a satisfying mess out of what had, before, been a well-made bed.

"What about you?" she asked.

Mal yawned, then looked guilty. "I'm gonna stay awake," she said. "Maybe pursue that bathtub business, or something. Someone's got to keep an eye open for ongoings, at any rate."

"Er," said Polly. "Remember what happened last time one of us slept alone?"

"You're sabotaging my need for hygiene," said Mal. "All right, all _right_. You're the one who'll have to put up with my well-groomed presence."

For a while, she eyed the rafter directly above her, then, quite suddenly, she jumped. Polly had never seen that before and the blurred somersault was actually, she had to admit, quite spectacular. The show ended with Mal hanging neatly off the rafter, fixing her hair.

She grinned at Polly.

"Er," said Polly. "Am I supposed to be able to do that as well?"

"It's entirely facultative," said Mal. "Which, of course, means you're pretty much a disgrace to vampire society if you can't."

"Does that actually matter?" asked Polly.

"No. Try to get some sleep, will you?"

"All right, then," said Polly, turning over. She'd always prefer blankets. "Wake me when you get tired."

The bed wasn't bad, per se, she thought, all horizontal and nice and comfy.

Just a bit cold maybe.

-

Polly awoke to the first rays of sunlight entering the room. Tiny specks of dust were dancing in them. Silhouetted against the window hung Mal, eyes closed. She hadn't moved since yesterday.

If there turns out to be a bloodbath downstairs you'll probably be really sorry, Mal-who's-gonna-stay-awake-to-keep-an-ey

e-on-the-ongoings, thought Polly and got up from the bed. Her bare feet protested. Socks first, she thought faintly, then trousers, then shirt, than everything else.

She tiptoed over to Mal; however, it turned out she wasn't good at that sneaking business at all. The floorboards creaked, and Mal opened first one eye and then the other.

"Morning," she said. "Slept well?"

"Yeah," said Polly. "You?"

"Not at all," said Mal, and did an elegant backflip. She landed without even making a sound. "I was listening. Before you ask, it was boring as all hell."

Mal, Polly noticed, was eyeing the washbowl, and the soap, and the washcloth, and the towel, all of which the innkeeper had very thoughtfully provided the day before.

"Has anything happened?" asked Polly.

"Nothing," said Mal, sauntering over to the washbowl like a very sophisticated moth towards the flame, and dipping one finger into the water. She retreated hastily. "Whoa," she said, "bit chilly."

"You could ask someone to warm up -," began Polly.

"I'm used to washing with snow." Mal dipped the washcloth into the water. "I just never liked it much," she added.

Polly had an interesting twenty minutes of staring at the wallpaper. What she had thought to be tiny printed pink flowers turned out to be really tiny printed pink cabbages.

Welcome to the Sto Plains.

There was a splash, and then something rather more disconcerting. If you've ever heard a vampire chattering their teeth, you weren't likely to forget in a hurry.

"What've you done now?" she asked.

"Ssstuck my head into the wwwater," said Mal. "Can't remmmember wwwhy."

"You know," said Polly, "if you should ever run out of coffee again, you can always just crave cleanliness. You're already pretty consistent at it."

"Aw, thanks," said Mal, rubbing her hair vigorously with the towel while simultaneously trying to climb back into her clothes. It was a show Polly secretly admitted she'd have loved to see, if only because it was probably more interesting than tiny printed pink cabbages.

"Speaking of which," added Mal, "'s there any chance I might get you dripping wet as well?"

Er -

"I'm gonna go fetch new water," said Polly. "I realise I pale in comparison to you, but I'm really not all that averse to hygiene, either. How d'you convey that to the innkeeper?"

"Just point and grunt, I think," said Mal. "And I'm coming with you, maybe I can organise something in the way of breakfast."

Mal moved.

"Er, Mal?" said Polly. "You're swaying."

"'s all right," said Mal. "I'm gonna sleep in the coach."

Stupid, stupid, stupid, thought Polly. Taking Mal by the elbow, she said, "Are you sure you don't - ?"

"Completely," said Mal, looking at her. "No, really."

"We did that before, and it worked," said Polly. "I doesn't mean you're going to turn back."

"Bit of an oxymoron there," said Mal. "I can't go around biting people in order to stay reformed, you know?"

"Well," said Polly, "it is a pledge not to drink human blood. Not sure I count as such anymore."

That sounded a bit strange in Polly's ears, but she tried to deny that. See, I'm completely cool with things such as they are. Er.

"No, but you're human-shaped enough," said Mal. "Er. It's probably better if I don't get used to that. I'll have some cabbage, if you please."

Suddenly, Polly found she had her arms full of vampire.

"Thank you for offering," murmured Mal against her hair. "You're nice. In a completely fucked up vampire way, you are the polliest Polly that ever pollied."

"Huh," said Polly. "Thanks. I _suppose_." She tentatively broke te embrace, because someone had to. "By all means, have some cabbage," Polly added. "Just tell me beforehand when you're going to faint."

She did feel a bit relieved at this. Cabbage was so ordinary a thing it could probably counteract vampirism all on its own.

She left Mal downstairs in a friendly dispute with the innkeeper while the boy from yesterday showed her the way to the water pump in the courtyard. Why did that feel so strange, now?

Polly knew the answer, of course. It was because, back home, you'd hardly find a boy of about eighteen helping out at his father's inn. Boys of eighteen - and, come to think of that, quite a few of the girls - would be enlisted or dead or without body parts vital to the helping out.

Such was her army.

Back in the room, Polly washed in a hurry, bent over the washbowl and freezing and cursing and, of course, noticing there was no reflection of her in the water. It was disgusting. She'd never see her face again.

Whenever she thought she'd got used to these things, something else caught her attention. It didn't make her particularly impressed with the universe.

Maybe Mal had even managed to order a decent breakfast, thought Polly while getting downstairs. And really, upon entering the dining room, she saw Mal entirely comfortable on a chair while watching a steaming mug in her hands with what was possibly not enthusiasm, but at least some sort of kind-hearted interest. Mal lifted her head when Polly arrived at the table.

"What's that?" asked Polly. "Coffee?"

"I'm not quite sure _what_ it is," said Mal, "it's a little mysterious. It sure as hell ain't coffee, though." She blew on it, then took a careful sip.

Polly watched in awe as Mal's face twisted into a grimace. "And?" she asked.

"Cabbage," said Mal. "Probably cabbage. I hope it's cabbage, at least. The taste suggests worse."

"Do I want to know?" asked Polly, sitting down and eyeing the piece of bread on her plate. It had a somewhat greenish colour, suggesting vegetable ingredients, but Polly knew her horse bread. There couldn't be anything worse, right?

"Bit like cabbage when it's, you know, done being cabbage," said Mal. "Once you get over the mental images, I suppose it's drinkable."

"Oh, thank you," said Polly. "I was eating."

"I didn't say it was _that_ bad," said Mal. "Merely bad," To Polly's horror, she drained the mug in one go.

"Oh no, you didn't," said Polly.

Mal was obviously trying to keep a straight face, but failing miserably. "Your turn, Polly," she said, pointing to Polly's own mug, which was filled with the same steaming brownish liquid.

With sixty per cent repulsion and forty per cent morbid fascination, Polly examined it. There were bubbles. She was _impressed_.

Mal was carefully laying a slice of thankfully very ordinary cheese over a piece of bread while watching Polly with just the tiniest hint of schadenfreude. Polly raised her cup. The smell alone made her stomach turn, but since she knew this couldn't possibly kill her -

"Can't be worse than coffee, I suppose," said Polly.

"Oh, nasty."

Polly drank slowly, trying to take in every facette of this new-found flavour. It hadn't many. It was cabbage, only more so. Someone had distilled the very soul of cabbage and then kindly gone and boiled it. Polly was full of cabbage. Cabbage flowed in her veins.

She put down the mug. "Iridescent," she said with hardly any coughing. "Opalescent, even." The look on Mal's face was worth it. Well, probably worth it. Possibly worth it if -

In a universal gesture, Polly raised the empty mug and waved it at the innkeeper. It was promptly refilled.

She pushed the mug over to Mal, who was still sitting there, bread in one half-raised hand. "There you go, Mal," she said. "I cabbage better than cabbage. Than you, I mean."

Mal swallowed. "Some things should never be made a verb," she said. "You really mean this?"

Polly started on the bread. "Sure," she said. "Pass me the cheese, will you?"

The innkeeper was watching them again. Polly winked at him, then smiled at Mal. "Drink up before it leaps at you," she said. "I think it might be alive."

"Well," said Mal, "not for much longer." There was a blur of movement.

She put an empty mug onto the table.

Polly stared. "What a neat little trick," she said.

Mal smiled innocently. Behind her, a potted plant crumpled and died.

-

The next days were more of the same, endless fields by day, dusty inns by night. It got a bit repetitive, but then again, these were the Sto Plains. It was where you spent your life, not your holidays.

They didn't talk much now, what with Polly sleeping at night and Mal sleeping during the day and being too tired during the hours inbetween. Nobody was following them, but with Polly, that thought was always followed by a mental 'Yeah, right'.

There was a day, Polly believed it was the fourth, when the river joined the Ankh, and that was all that happened, unless one counted Polly crying and crying until she couldn't cry anymore, and she didn't count that, since neither of them mentioned it again.

After that, there were more fields, more inns, and nothing changed much.

There was a day, Polly believed it was the eighth, when she stepped out of an inn's door in the morning and something was different, like a taste to the wind, or a note in the sky. She needed several hours alone in the coachman's seat to work out what it was, though, and when she did, her heart leaped a little.

They had a break, not long after that, and a civilised one at that. They spread out the woolly blanket by river.

Why had this revelation taken her so long? It wasn't as if several square miles of snow disappearing in every direction could possibly be hard to miss. They stood on earth, here. Or lay, as were the case. Same difference.

Polly nudged Mal, who was seriously threatening to doze off again.

"Look up," she said.

Mal screwed her eyes shut. "Sunlight," she said. "Seen that before." She was, unconsciously maybe, trying to wrap an edge of the blanket around herself in an attempt to shield off the cool wind. Polly crawled a bit closer and tentatively put an arm around her. It wasn't much really, judging by the way she herself didn't get much out of it, but she hoped dearly the thought counted for something.

Mal shifted a little to a more direct angle. She was still shivering somewhat, but Polly could feel her trying to relax.

"Can't you feel that?" asked Polly.

"Feel what? Cold?" mumbled Mal. "I feel cold all right."

"Sunlight," said Polly.

"Yeah, that too. 's not really warm."

"Mal, it's spring!" said Polly. "The snow's melting! There's little green things coming out of the earth! It's getting warmer!"

"Be careful with those exclamation marks," said Mal. "You could acc'dent'ly knock somebody out, like."

But something bubbled inside of Polly, and it wasn't anger. It was something else entirely, and she wasn't going to let go now.

"Look, Mal," she said, and she thought so many words at the same time that they had to stop and reassemble, "look, I'm here and I'm breathing actual air and it's spring and I'm glad I didn't die, and I don't care how much cabbage it takes to arrive, I -"

Mal opened her eyes to look at her.

Whoops, thought Polly. At least I know now how to wake her up. I just have to spout random words at her.

"Glad, Polly?" asked Mal.

"Come to think of it," began Polly, and swallowed. It was a bit hard to admit again. "Yes, I suppose I am," she said, finally. "I mean, I don't really like the vampirism business, you know that, but right now, I'm really... glad I can lie here and just breathe and not have my eyes eaten."

Mal slowly reached out one hand, touching her face. "Would have been a bit of a waste," she said.

"Oh yeah," said Polly, content in having her face touched, "and it doesn't hurt you're here as well. Even though your hand's really damn cold."

Mal chuckled softly. "Warm me up?" she suggested.

Polly took Mal's hand into her own, softly rubbing her frozen fingers, careful not to disturb the torn bandage that was still in place. She felt Mal warm up to the touch, and she pressed Mal's fingers to her lips because it felt like a good idea at the time, and saw Mal close her eyes at that, and shifting, shifting still, Polly snuggled up to her, until her face was just an inch away.

"Guess we're reaching Ankh-Morpork tonight," said Mal softly.

I know that, thought Polly. I know that and I go on because there's a clock in me and it's getting late again.

"Yes," she said.

There was nothing, now, besides the sound of the Ankh rumpling along, and a few birds, and the wind, and two people holding hands.

Holding hands does make a sound, if you listen carefully. Polly did.


	13. All Gone Fuzzy Now

**Note: **Pratchett's. Try not to hate me for the ending.**  
**

**- **

**Plogviehze, Baby: Chapter 12. In which there is fluff. Well, technically.  
**

**-**

Polly and Mal had lodgings in a run-down inn in one of the more interesting districts of Ankh-Morpork, and all Polly could say about them was that they weren't completely disgusting. That was to say, Polly had seen worse. Not much worse, but worse, in any way. At least, the bedsheets here promised a entertaining new set of skin diseases. Elsewhere, you'd merely get educational.

"Gotta be something really easy," said Polly. "Air, for example. Can I crave air?"

They were sitting in the guestroom of the inn, which was underground and possibly just the tiniest bit damp, but they were a bit short of money right now. This town had, so far, proved completely immune to Mal's glare if it hadn't also been accompanied by the gleam of a coin. It was worrying.

"Bit hard to pull off," said Mal. "It should be something that's at least halfway interesting."

"I reckon air's very interesting," said Polly. "Fresh air, I mean. This town's a bit stinky."

"Nah," said Mal. She was poking around in the remains of what the locals called breakfast, namely, a slab of fried bacon that was so well-done it gave off a small cloud of dust. Apparently, this was a sign of quality. Ordering rare meat in Ankh-Morpork, she had said, was an adventure in and of itself.

There wasn't much that killed a vampire, but a dish of steak tartare would probably make their next six hours or so very interesting indeed.

"I mean," she added, "once you've managed to get yourself addicted to air, you're probably fine, unless you should happen to find yourself underwater for a week, or something equally bizarre. But I really don't see how one could pull that off."

"Hm," said Polly. "How substantial's this supposed to be, anyway?"

Mal shrugged. "Can be anything," she said. "Could be light, if you're artistically inclined."

"Er," said Polly. "That was Otto, right?"

She watched in fascination while Mal raised the fork to her mouth. It _was_ practically charcoal she ate. Polly herself had declined on account of feeling edgy, and she was glad she had.

"Yeah," said Mal, "that was Otto." She fixed Polly's eyes over an untouched beer mug. "Out with it, Polly. I know you want to ask."

Polly watched a little fly buzzing around in a consequent zig-zag. It flew over the beer mug. It fell into the beer mug. That was the end of the little fly.

"Yes," said Polly. "But will I get an answer?"

A slight smile. "That depends," said Mal.

"Okay then," said Polly. "Back when you'd vanished for half a year -"

"I was here," said Mal.

"And you were with -?"

"You may have noticed I came back," said Mal. "Anything else? A diagram, maybe? There ain't many trees 'round here, though."

"Ah," said Polly, finding that her imagination didn't need details, or trees, right now. "I could start obsessing over other people's private lives," she added.

Mal stared at her for a moment, then burst out laughing. "I can just imagine the craving episodes," she said. "Gimme details or die."

"Ah," said Polly. "I see how that can be impractical."

She did take up the beer mug at this point, just to give her hands something to do; however, she wouldn't go so far as to actually drink the stuff. Maybe it wouldn't dissolve pennies, but it sure had dissolved the fly.

Polly was watching Mal over the rim of the mug, and there was a thought -

"How 'bout people?" she asked. On the other side of the table, Mal examined her fingernails as if they were the most interesting thing in the world.

"They'd have to stick around for a pretty long time," she said softly, looking up.

"Okay," said Polly. "I got it. Bad idea."

"Besides," added Mal, "it doesn't quite meet the criterion of social acceptance. Vampirism is already some sort of people craving."

"Look, I said I got it," said Polly. "Just forget about it, will you?"

She leaned back in her chair, less comfortable then she'd have liked to, but more comfortable than the old Polly would have been. And then she had an idea.

"Saloop," she said.

"Boring," said Mal.

"Since when was that a criterion?" asked Polly.

"Since never," said Mal. "Sorry."

"I reckon that one's easy," continued Polly, "'cause saloop's hot sweet milky tea, and it's still saloop if it, you know, isn't. I've had saloop that was lukewarm water, and it was great. And the way I see it, if we can't even get a fire burning, we're buggered either way."

"And you already have an unhealthy fixation on it," said Mal, "just like the whole damn army. So you're really going to go back, then?"

Polly was a little surprised. "'course," she said. "So, Mal, are you really going to not go back?"

A blink, a pause.

"Got it," said Mal.

"But," said Polly, "and I'm honestly trying not to be self-centered here, but seeing as no-one attacked us on our way here, do you really think it's necessary to go to bloody Uberwald and provoke these people to hell and back?"

"Polly," said Mal. "You may have noticed that I've managed to acquire enemies with a rather unfriendly attitude, very sharp weapons and hilariously bad aim, yes? How could I possibly justify staying around anyone that I even remotely like?"

"By accepting that they can take care of themselves?" said Polly.

"We saw how that worked out," said Mal. "I've got to, I'm sorry."

"Don't be," said Polly, who'd just remembered that her army was, for the most part, mortal and maybe should not be subjected to the wrath of a bunch of unreformed fundamentalist vampires. "How long d'you think this withdrawal thing will take?"

"About ten days, in most cases," said Mal. "Might be a bit shorter for you, but I honestly don't know."

There was one question that had been nagging on the edge of Polly's consciousness for a while now. Polly gave in to it.

"Will you still be there when I get out?" she asked, hoping that she didn't sound like a whiny toddler. _I'm old enough to get things done on my own_, she thought. _Only it'd be nice if I didn't have to all the time_.

"'course," said Mal. "What, did you think it'd be 'thank you and goodbye, ma'am' now?"

"Er," said Polly. "I wouldn't have put it quite like that."

"Probably not," said Mal. "Tell you what, let's leave this place. It's too sticky for my taste."

She got up, extending a hand to Polly. All gentleman now.

"Time?" asked Polly.

"Time," said Mal. "I think."

Outside, the new morning presented itself with redness.

-

"Abbatoirs Lane," said Polly. "How really very bloody fitting. And how, pray tell, did we manage to end up _early_? We were _late_ when we left."

Mal was leaning against the wall, taking a sip of her coffee-to-run-like-a-total-prat-'cause-we-_know_-you're-late-for-work, looking, very content. Ankh-Morpork clearly was some kind of messed up vampire heaven to her, thougt Polly, not without a slight twinge of annoyance.

"It's only ten minutes or so," she said. "And don't look at me like that. It's not my fault they open later in this season."

"But they're _vampires_," pointed Polly out. "It's absurd. They're not supposed to do the daylight savings thing."

"That's why they do it," said Mal. "Fag?"

Without awaiting an answer, she lit another cigarette and passed it over. Without complaining, Polly took it. She was getting jittery, anyway.

"I probably won't stay long," said Mal.

"Why not?"

"Because," said Mal, "i've got the inkling of a feeling that it might possibly not be a very good idea."

"Mal?" said Polly, and inhaled deeply, savouring the feeling of smoke abrading the inside of her lungs. "You promised me something. You promised me not to be so damn vague all the time."

"Yeah, well, except when people are listening," said Mal.

"But these people are supposed to be on our side," said Polly, and thought about that sentence, and took the moment to be righteously scandalised. "They _are_ on our side, are they? Mal?"

"'course," said Mal. "But don't worry if they kick me right out."

"Huh," said Polly. "Why?"

"It's just that I suspect I'm not too welcome here," said Mal, "on account of the whole, you know, biting situation. Either that or they'll drown me in cocoa and well-meant support, and I'm not sure I can deal with that, either."

Polly narrowed her eyes. "And you're not just trying to make me feel better about spending the next ten days in there?"

At this moment, the door was opened with a flourish. In the frame, there stood a vampire. He was barely recognisable as such, though whether this was achieved by the fuzzy woolly purple jumper or rather his air of general goodwill, she couldn't tell.

"Maladicta," he said, "so good of you to come. I see you brought someone new?"

"Yeah," said Mal, and Polly noticed how very much she wasn't correcting the man on the issues of names. "Can we get in? I'm in a bit of a hurry."

"We'll see what we can do," said the man. "Do come in. I daresay there's time for a cup of cocoa, Maladicta?"

"Not... really," said Mal.

"Oh, you absolutely must."

Mal cast a glance at Polly. It said something along the lines of 'they might want to kill us, but as long as their weapon of choice is cocoa...'

"And no ash on the carpets, please," said the man.

Carpets, thought Polly. Oh well. She crushed the cigarette under her boot. A boot that was, just now, being subjected to a very thorough inspection.

"We've got guest slippers," added the man. "They're obligatory. Please?"

Once inside, Polly was a bit surprised. She'd expected something, well, gloomier. She'd expected _style_. Instead, it was flowery wallpapers and footmats and very fluffy guest slippers. Obscenely fluffy guest slippers. They were rather puzzling.

"Very fluffy guest slippers," she said, as if naming the things could ban their inherent demonic nature. "Very fluffy pink guest slippers." She got out of her boots and tentatively put them on,

"Huh," she added, staring down at her feet. "'s this supposed to be some sort of initiation ritual?"

Polly could hear someone practising something that sounded like a harmonium, and badly at that. It stopped soon, though.

"What's your name, aspiring Black Ribboner?" asked the man in the jolly and entirely nerve-grating manner of anti-social vampires who by some mistake of the system have been given a job as receptionist.

"Perks," said Polly. "Polly Perks," she added, to clear any possible confusion.

"... Ah," said the man. "Any titles? Middle names? Anything?"

"Er," said Polly. "You can call me sergeant, if that makes you happy."

"Well, now," said the man, "we've prepared a few contracts..."

_Prepared?_

As Polly tried to catch Mal's eyes, another man came hurrying down the corridor, or rather, sliding along, on account of the slipper situation.

"Maladicta!" he said. He wasn't out of breath, Polly noticed. This might be a vampire thing. Mal turned to look at him.

"What is it?" she asked.

"So good to see you alive and well -," the man began, and stopped, and cleared his throat. "Lady Draconia would be delighted to talk to you. She said it was urgent business."

"Ah," said Mal. "So _you're_ her lapdog now?"

"She made herself very clear, Maladicta," said the man. "You simply cannot resist."

_Yeah_, thought Polly. _I'm urgent business, too. I think I'm about to collapse, actually, so can someone, anyone, please hurry up?_

She felt Mal squeeze her hand, already turning to go. Polly couldn't believe it. How could anyone -

- how could Mal -

- be so damn _stupid?_

"Mal," she said, nudging her. "I know it's hard for you, but can you try using your brain for once?"

There was an eyebrow being raised at her. "Oh, I love you, too, Polly," said Mal. "Why?"

The cheek!

"Fine," said Polly. "Go visit your Lady Draconia. See if I care."

Mal moved her lips silently for a moment, her expression perfectly blank, then said, "... Oh."

"I see you're getting the idea," said Polly.

"Of course," said Mal. "I'm not completely uncunning, thanks." She turned to the man waiting for her. "You can tell your Lady Draconia I'll be in the drawing room. Five minutes," she said.

"Contrary," said the man, smiling faintly . "I'm going to accompany you."

Mal sighed. "One minute," she said. "You will give me one minute." She held his eyes for a few seconds. It almost - _almost_ - looked like there was more than a little convincing going on underneath, but Polly wouldn't know. As far as she was concerned, strange mind powers didn't happen to people she knew.

"Of course," the stranger said, grinning and tilting his head slightly. "We're all grown-ups here, yes?"

Polly was getting increasingly uneasy, and that wasn't helped when Mal took her arm and dragged her off into a corner.

And pulled her close.

Er.

"So it's like that," whispered Mal into her ear. "Contract guy is on our side. I think. Fluffy bunny slipper guy has just demonstrated that he, well, isn't. The lady with the silly name is so far from our side it's almost funny. So, you'll be safe, I'll be, well, I'll try to be cunning -"

"We could still run," said Polly. "Before they try sticking stakes in you."

Mal looked at her for a long moment. "No, we can't," she said, very softly. Polly opened her mouth to protest, but, really, there was nowhere to go and she was fixating on necks again.

"You can," Polly whispered. "You can run. I can take care of myself."

Mal bit her lip. "You know I can't," she said. "Do come on, Polly, I know these people."

"That puts me right at ease," said Polly, rolling her eyes, but that was just for show. She did take one of Mal's hands, tentatively. "Be careful?"

A grin. "'s my middle name," said Mal. "And that reminds me - " She slipped something into the pocket of Polly's jacket.

"If you could avoid giving that up to people who make the impression of crazy murderers that would be swell," she whispered. "Good luck," and with that, she actually dropped a kiss on Polly's forehead and -

_(she's standing on tiptoes how sweet)_

- was gone.

-

The next hour Polly spent pretending to read a contract that basically said that, if she were to die during withdrawal, she couldn't sue the League. _All right, then_, she thought.

"Shall I sign that in blood, then?" she joked.

The man in the woolly jumper got pale. Paler.

"Do not say that word again," he said. "We strive to create an atmosphere of awareness here. People are sensitive."

Polly shrugged and signed in ink so black it glowed. She noticed there was rather a lot of blank space for her name. Two pages, in fact. _We could really use that for our death notfications,_ thought Polly. _And the ink's pretty stylish -_

"Follow me, then, Sergeant Polly," said the man and, without awaiting her response, he wandered off.

"It's Sergeant Perks," said Polly, hurrying to keep up with him. "I'm not royalty, or something."

"I do apologise, Sergeant Perks," said the man stiffly. He really was the anti-vampire, thought Polly. Fuzzy all over and uncharming and checkered and also, probably on her side. Fancy that.

They were going downstairs, she noticed. There was quite a lot of downstairs underneath this building, and there were no flowery wallpapers here. No need for fluffy slippers, either. She was lead to a row of lockers, most of them open.

"You can leave your personal belongings here," said the man. "They will be kept safe. We don't offer guarantees on valuables."

"I thought so," said Polly. "Er. I don't think I've got much in the way of personal belongings, really."

"Empty your pockets."

There it was again, thought Polly, there went the red-hot anger. She swallowed it down. She was trying to make an effort here. Contract guy was on her side.

Probably.

"Sure," she said. An extensive search of the pockets in her jacket revealed a used handkerchief, which was, to Polly's surprise, carefully noted down on a list. She also pulled out Mal's toothbrush. Whoops, she thought. But certainly Mal could acquire a new one in this city, right?

"... Stake," said the man. "You've brought a stake?"

"It's for self-defence," said Polly, oh so intelligently. "Er. I kinda forgot about it, actually."

The man was holding the stake thoughtfully. _Gods,_ thought Polly. I'm about to be murdered by a very cunning double agent in a fuzzy sweater. The _shame_. And it's my own stake, too.

"Very well," said the man. "It's a piece of wood, right? Nothing significant about it. Nothing... at... all. And we're tolerant of... no that there's anything wrong with..."

In an attempt to even out the madness, Polly went through her pockets again, and then thought, oh damn, so that was what Mal had given her -

"What's that?" said the man, unwinding the small vial from Polly's hand.

"Oh, no," said Polly. "Look, that one's really impor -"

The man uncorked the vial and sniffed carefully, then held the it far away, while closing it with a bit more force than was, technically, necessary.

"Ngk," he said, while trying to regain control over his facial expression. "Thought you could smuggle that in?"

"Look, I don't know what -"

"We'll take that into safekeeping," said the man. "Secure safekeeping, that is. As opposed to standard safekeeping, which is what we have here." He might or might not have been looking at Polly in a conspirational way. It was hard to tell. "It will later be decided if you get it back. Follow me now."

Polly did, although she was thinking of a nice, recreational bloodbath with a bit more vigour than even her condition required at the moment. _Welcome back, good old Polly anger. The ruperts really are everywhere, right?_

They passed empty cells on their way. They weren't very bad, for cells. They had wooden floorboards and the walls were painted with a shiny sort of paint. Probably washable.

"I've noticed the whole building is decorated in warm and inviting colours," said Polly. "Why isn't the cellar?"

"Can't renovate all the time, can we?" said the man. "There you go. Cell number nineteen. It's a lucky number. Most people survive."

"Aw, thanks for telling me," said Polly, getting inside. Voluntarily! Her inner sergeant shook his head sadly. "Anything else?"

"You may receive visitors during the first three days," said the man. "But don't be too put off if there aren't any."

"Wait," said Polly, "what the hell do you mean by that?"

The door clicked, the key turned, and she was alone with the sound of retreating footsteps and her own heart.

-

Polly believed it quite possible that she had never been as alone as this.

She lay on a cold floor. She was warm, getting warmer still. This may have been day five, day six, day two. Withdrawal, so far, had been a lot of falling asleep and waking up again, and she'd lost count of the days.

She got up; her body felt oddly blurred until it caught up with her. Polly got a hold of the wall. Her legs were shaking a bit by now, and she staggered over to a small basin that was built into the opposite wall. Water trickled lightly, pooling up before going down the drain. The sound of dripping was almost too much.

Polly collected some of the water in her hands. It took some time, and when there was enough of it, she splashed it into her face, seeking coolness, feeling coolness -

- boiling hot -

So that's it, then, thought Polly. Hallucinations. She'd been waiting for them to start, like one waits for a rupert to yell 'attack', because, really, the sooner things start, the sooner they stop and maybe she'd still be there afterwards.

During battle, nothing much was real (slicing into bodies, getting sliced, no really, it never happened to people). Here, she knew what was real. Polly drank some of the water, and while it felt hot, and while it burned her mouth and throat, she knew it was really cool.

Really.

Breathing and breathing and quite suddenly Polly grew beyond the cell.

There was something inside her, and it sensed. Real people on Abbatoir Lane, uncomfortably close. There were so many of them, lovely, alive, high in nutrients -

Polly collapsed against a wall. What was real, she thought. What was real was the wall, and her body against it, and nothing much more. What wasn't real was the heat, and the hunger, the burning need to tear and kill.

The shaking, now, that wasn't real, either. Polly sat perfectly still as the world around her shook. Blinked.

The cell wasn't bright enough to actually see anything, but she still saw the blood on the walls. Polly shifted a little, and her shirt stuck to the wall.

Easy, she thought. I'm sweating. It's a perfectly normal wall. Her palms lay flat upon the floor, and the floor was sticky.

Polly breathed in, and she smelled it. She smelled it for what felt like another day, and that was when she began to hurt.

-

There were things on the edge of her consciousness. She was opening up, like a flower, like a wound, only backwards. Polly drew things in. Fluttering heartbeats, more felt than heard. Lingering thoughts that felt like they were hers, of lettuce, of shoes that were getting uncomfortable, of cocoa, of sex. Ankh-Morporkian pedestrians seemed strangely fascinated with sex. She thought she spotted Mal, once. Sleeping, curled around herself and not hanging upside down at all -

- and -

Great, thought Polly. Now that I am in the ultimate position to go inquisitive on people's private lives, she's -

And Polly got _more_. She was walking the streets of Ankh-Morpork with a thousand pairs of legs. Probably more, but that was when she lost count and got a headache instead.

Need to concentrate, she thought. Need to - there. She was back in her cell, still on the same old spot, same old flow in her veins, and, wait -

All the blood in this room was inside her.

Polly whimpered and got up again. Not real. It was only a few steps to the basin, something made her stop in the middle of the room.

Brighter now, she noticed with distress. Not really a cell. She was pressed against the wall where there had been no wall before.

"Hands out," said a voice -

- directly in front of her -

- and she was trapped, really, she didn't have much of a chance. She inspected the chains he was holding with gloved hands, not iron or copper or -

Soft, her voice, only not really. "You _bastard_," she said.

A smile. "Hands out."

Held out her hands. Looked all different now, thought Polly. She recalled having dirtier fingernails than that.

And then the silver closed around her wrists and -

Pain.

The force of it actually threw her out of her skull.

-

Polly blinked. She was back in the cell, her hands by her side. No chains at all.

Tried to sleep for a while, away from dreams or panic attacks or flashsides or whatever the hell that had been. Found that her original plan didn't work as well as she had thought it would.

(Original plan: (1) lie down on floor, (2) close eyes, (3) fall asleep without any intrusions whatsoever. It might have been a tad optimistic.)

Blinked again.

And she was crouching on the floor, back to wall, hands chained, dull pain in her wrists that became sharp when she moved, so she didn't. Smiling people were around her.

"Oh, we have nothing against publicity for the League," said the voice of the harmonium player. "You just have to admit you shot the girl."

"Ha," said Polly's mouth. "What'd have been the point?"

"So you could blame it on us?" suggested the woman. "The evil old-fashioned control-lacking vampires, as opposed to the shiny new reformed sucking up to humankind really our teeth are only for opening pickle jars vampires?"

"It's personal, I see," said her mouth, again, but the voice wasn't hers. "Now, you've got to admit that's pretty damn silly even as far as most conspirational theories go. Since I'm sucking up to humankind, and all."

"People will believe it," said Miss Ainocard, suddenly kneeling down next to her, holding a cup of strong, sweet-smelling coffee, completely out of reach. The body wanted to strain into the general direction, but didn't.

"Five days passed, and we've got all the time in the world," she whispered. "We could bring you a human. It's what you want."

"No," a hiss. A flash of -

- room full of blood -

"Or," Miss Ainocard leaned closer, thumb dragging along one feverish brow. "We could bring you the Polly girl. See who survives." She laughed. "Said it was a good plan."

Polly wanted to spring up, break the chains, leap at her, rip her beating heart out, but the body resisted, forcibly so. It was like trying to dislodge a brick wall with bare hands. Strange, because Polly had thought all the right things to get the body going.

"Polly's nineteen," she said, talking in third person for which ever reason. "She's nineteen. Vampires don't hurt children, yes?"

_I'm not a child_, thought Polly. _I've killed and attacked and kissed people and childhood doesn't work like that -_

"Yes," said Miss Ainocard, looking a bit disappointed. "_Vampires_ don't. Usually."

Polly was looking down on bound hands, burned wrists, and without Polly remembering to give the order, her right hand turned around, palm upwards. That wound, now, right there, had almost healed completely, Polly noticed. Wait -

Her lips were moving soundlessly, and Polly strained her - brain? - to make sense of that.

_Get out of my head, Polly._

Miss Ainocard got up in a lazy rustle of skirts. "Remember the twins from the ball? I heard they got staked a month ago, the both of them." Eyes followed the coffee cup, body tense, wrists still burning up and hair deranged and cold sweat all over.

"But this is not about the children, is it?" _Get out of my head._

The glance she got was more pitiful than anything else. "I thought you knew how war is played."

_Please._

Polly wasn't quite sure how to go about that, but with the next breath she drew, the room shattered and she was back in her cell with a multitude of heartbeats from all over the town, and without the one she wanted.

-

She continued her way to the basin, she drank some of the water. By now, it had acquired a rather sticky quality, and there were things in it. Always changing around, always flowing, all over her arms, and it stuck to her skin.

Polly lay down on the floor again, sprawled out until she became too cold for that, curled up until she became too hot, all circled around that dull ache in her belly. She uncurled again, already freezing as she did so.

Maybe if she just concentrated on breathing -

The pain came in waves, pulsating with the beat of her own heart. One minute, it was far away, or maybe she was detached, it didn't matter. It would build up from there, reaching that threshold where pain became agony, and stay, and stay. Sometimes, it got worse from there. Sometimes, Polly screamed. More often, she lay there whimpering until the pain got bearable again. She treasured these moments.

I'm going to find Mal, she thought, and then I'm going to fucking kill her. Repeatedly until she gets the message. Gonna kill Mal.

Gonna kill -

-

Maybe she could sleep if she hit her head on the floor.

Thought. Done. A little blackness. The water was dripping, and she counted. She gave up twice, and began again, and she supposed she'd slept a little, because the basin was almost full when she approached it again.

She turned and Ankh-Morpork hit her. Too many voices, too many thoughts. She had to concentrate. She had to...

- pick and choose -

"You are a very small pawn in a significantly bigger games," said a female voice.

Oh, not _again_.

"Do you know what happens to small pawns in big games?", the same voice.

"They get to be queen?" said the body Polly was currently residing in. It might have been Mal. Only Mal had never made it a habit to kneel on a floor like this, hands bound and eyes closed. "Look," she added, "if you want to use metaphor, you've got to _think_. I don't look good in dresses."

"They're disposable," said the voice. "They _die_. Are you following me?"

"Well, actually -"

A blow across her face. Polly was impressed. Coming from a vampire, even the most ladylike slap certainly added weight to an argument.

"So, the question is," said the voice, and there was no movement in it, "who sent you, little pawn?"

"I wasn't sent," complained the body.

"Try again?" A suggestion with a threat in it. It was unpleasant.

"I was sort of maybe nudged into a general direction. You might guess by whom." A crooked smile, eyes still closed.

And laughter. Laughter. Polly was scandalised. "Lady Margolotta has finally acknowledged our existence?"

The smile didn't fade. "And aren't you proud." A pause in which Polly thought, _so that's what these arrogant little grins feel like from the inside_. "Your little extremist movement, all grown up now."

Silence, dead silence except for the faint sound of a lid being screwed off. Someone gave a small chuckle, and Polly realised it was her. Mal. Didn't matter.

"Look at me, Maladicta."

A hand under her chin forced her head up.

"Open your eyes."

Lips moving again, and these were not Polly's words.

_Leave me, Polly._

"Do come on," that voice again. "Open your eyes." And then, softer, "Do it for Mum."

A pause, and "No," the body said, startled. "Certainly not -"

_Leave me. I'll be fine._

The eyes opened, and for a split second they saw a face, wearing an eye mask, and then, a flash of light, brighter than anything Polly had ever known. Someone screamed. Not Polly. She was blinded, she was -

- dust -

-

In her cell, Polly collapsed, hugging herself. She did not know how much longer this would take, or if she would get out of here alive, but she did know, with absolute certainty, that Mal was dead.


	14. Back To Default

**Note: **Still Pratchett's. Thank you for being all worried about Mal :D. I feel accomplished.

** -**

**Plogviehze, Baby: Chapter 13. In which there are more 'z's and 'v's than one is willing to count.  
**

**- **

"Handkerchief."

"Yep," said Polly.

"Toothbrush."

That's Mal's, thought Polly. She was trying to stay calm here, but -

"Yep," she said.

"Wooden stick that definitely does not resemble a stake in any way, shape or form."

"Uh," said Polly. "I suppose."

"Black Ribboner's starter kit, extended version."

"I'm sure that's not mine," said Polly.

The secretary opposite her gave her a tired smile. "Take it as a welcoming present. It contains the ribbon, the song book, a cocoa mug with your name on it, a bundle of leaflets for your friends if you have any, and an extra surprise."

"Oh," said Polly distractedly. "That's nice."

"Don't expect too much," added the secretary, "most of the time, it's a cravat or a godawful flowerpot."

"Aw, thanks," said Polly, still not paying attention.

The secretary looked through his files. "That appears to be all," he said. "Please sign here."

"There's something missing," said Polly. "I had a small vial with me. Was put into safekeeping," she added.

The man checked a list, frowned. "There's no such thing in the inventory. Who did you say you gave it to?"

"I dunno," said Polly. "Guy in a fuzzy sweater. Said he'd leave it with the super extra secret safe stuff."

"Ah," said the secretary, "that. I'm afraid our 'super extra secret safe stuff' has been taken in a burglary. Have a nice day." He ruffled through his files again, only looking up when he found them quite suddenly perforated by a not very stakelike, honestly, wooden stick.

It really was very sharp.

"I am not," said Polly, "having a nice day."

There was a mildly apologetic smile. "It's like that in the beginning," said the secretary, handing her back the stake. "You'll find that a cup of cocoa and a bun will generally help you regain your composure."

"To hell with composure," said Polly. "Where's Mal?"

"I do not know anyone who goes by that name," said the secretary.

"Maladicta van der Zülln!" said Polly. "She was with me when I arrived."

"That one." The secretary sighed. "It is assumed that she left the club house ten days ago, before the City Watch got here."

"Wow," said Polly. She felt she was getting into sergeant mood here, but didn't care much. She was _working_ the glare now, and preparing the shouting. "And who, might I asked, called the bloody watch?"

"We do take care of ourselves, Miss Perks," said the man. "And we don't take it lightly when one of our members breaks the pledge. Be reasonable."

"She only did that because -"

"Yes?" said the man.

"None of your damn business," said Polly. "So, how far does taking care of yourselves go? D'you perhaps kill people every once in a while?"

Polly was quite astonished that her voice didn't fail her at this moment. Sometimes, when the absurdities just kept piling up, one could go quite far while keeping a straight face, she mused.

"That would be quite pointless," said the man. "Also, the Patrician would give us hell if we did that. Please sign here."

Polly signed so furiously the paper tore. There was no bleeding point in breaking into tears now. She had to be angry now. She found being angry generally helped with the quick thinking. And considering the circumstances, it didn't pose much of a challenge.

Polly stuffed the handkerchief and the toothbrush into her pocket and picked up the grotesque starter kit, which was rather heavier than she had expected.

"The League does take care of itself, Miss Perks," said the secretary again. "You'll find out." There was something that might have been a conspiratorial wink. It looked as out of place as Polly felt.

"Oh, I'm sure I will," growled Polly, and stalked off.

_I'm dying for a cup of tea_, she thought. _Dying_. For a teeny tiny porcelain cup with little daisies 'round the rim, and hot sweet tea, soldier style, with a helping of cream that wasn't rationed for once, and as many spoonfuls of sugar as she could get away with, and -

Upon examining the thought, however, Polly found that she was, in fact, not dying for a cup of tea, for a cup with daisies 'round the rim, or for sugar, and that made her even angrier. No-one had explained that transference business to her. How was she supposed to find out what she'd go batshit crazy about?

Polly tried to slam the door on her way out, but found that it closed almost soundlessly. It didn't help with her mood. Outside, the new morning overwhelmed her with light, and noise, and the ever-present eau d'Ankh-Morpork. It was like walking into a very damp, very smelly brick wall.

Bit hard to keep her thoughts coherent, here.

Clutching the starter kit to her chest, because, she thought bitterly, it wasn't as if she had anything else in this world that she could cling to, she wandered the streets for a while, aimlessly, while she tried to think of an aim.

_Think like a sergeant_, she thought. _First, find out what it is that you want -_

(Mal)

Okay, so maybe a detour was in order. _Think like a sergeant who thinks like the enemy:_ what would she do if she was a batshit crazy fundamentalist vampire who had to dispose of a pile of dust?

(The situation was too damn absurd to cry, damn it - )

Unfortunately, Polly could think of a great many things one could do with a pile of dust, including but not limited to scattering it all over the town, throwing it into the Ankh where it'd become part of the mud, or sweeping it up and putting it into a jar and immuring it in a cellar somewhere. It was, she concluded gloomily, rather disheartening.

"Cuppa coffee, cuppa coffee?" One of life's little annoyances, this time in the form of a small and averagely smelly young man with a tank on his back, a hose in his hand and lots of cardboard cups dangling from his belt, was approaching her.

"Real Klatchian Rare Roasted, tuppence a cup!" he cried cheerfully into her ear. "Stomach ulcer in less than thirty minutes! Strong enough to wake the dead! This Is Guaranteed!"

Polly glared. "Fuck you," she said. "Fuck you and your fucking coffee, fuck the horse you rode in on, and fuck the guy who had the fucking _nerve_ to feed the horse."

"That a no, then? Tuppence a cup!"

"Yes!" said Polly. "I mean, yes, that's a no. Oh, just piss off."

People were just too damn chipper this early in the morning, she thought, or really, all of the time, and she sat down on the stony steps in front of some official-looking building. It was already quite warm, and getting warmer. People around her seemed awfully fretful, but this _was_ Ankh-Morpork. They didn't have wars to distract them.

Polly closed her eyes for a moment, and realised in one single, condensed moment, that she was lost, and badly shaking despite the heat. Mal had as good as promised she'd be here, and then she'd gone and died and was dead -

Probably dead. Polly was rather attached to the 'probably'.

She remembered the flash, remembered the dying, as clear and chilling as if it had been Polly who that had happened to, only of course she was still here to remember it, and really, it _had_ happened to her, hadn't it? Polly remembered a battlefield, searing pain in her side, and how life had trickled out of her minute by minute.

She remembered -

(Light reflected off a scythe, and some details of a certain conversation, possibly inferred, possibly not.)

She wasn't angry anymore. Dear sweet Nuggan, she wasn't angry anymore, and she wanted to tell Mal. That, and a whole lot of other things (that she'd meant it, or at least that she'd come to mean it in the end; that it hadn't been all about the warmth, please - )

With that, Polly decided her mind had very definitely gone places it shouldn't have, because all of this only made her hurt more, and thus, Polly opened her eyes and discovered the fire.

So that was where the heat had come from, was her detached conclusion. A veritable crowd had accumulated to watch the house on the other side of the street burn down, and as Polly's eyes idly scanned the faces, she thought she recognised someone. Someone who was, just now, closing a notebook, and wandering off.

Polly got up to follow him.

-

They were in a rather narrow lane now, full of laundry and chickens and small children playing small children's games that seemed to involve a lot of hitting each other over the head in a jolly and wholesome manner. Mere seconds before Polly had finished a brief internal discussion about whether hitting your neighbour over the head as a child resulted in signing up for the army as an adult, the man suddenly stopped, turned around and said, "I know you're following me, so you can just as well show yourself."

Polly had instinctively jumped behind a dangling bedsheet, and slowly emerged as she realised she was not in a war and probably - probably - not about to be shot.

William de Worde studied her. "I know you," he said. "Weren't you -"

"Yes," said Polly, trying to untangle herself from the sheet. "I'm that plucky soldier girl (19) from Borogravia. We used to correspond. I need to find Otto Chriek, please."

De Worde cocked an eyebrow. "Why the hell didn't you just ask me?"

"Er," said Polly. "Old habits die hard? It's really important, though. Do you know where he is?"

"He might be at the office," said de Worde, "if he's not off staring at some thunderstorm. You can come with me, if you like. What's a Borogravian soldier girl like you doing in Ankh-Morpork?"

There was no thunderstorm in sight, thought Polly. Maybe she'd be lucky.

"Put that notebook away," she said. "I'm not human interest." Damn right.

"Oh, the tear-jerkers always get their audience," said de Worde lightly. "You could be following your sweetheart, or running away from an oppressive regime, or seeking a cure for a cureless condition. We get them all."

"Bastard. Sorry," said Polly. Seriously, she had to stop insulting the people who she needed to help her.

De Worde scribbled things into his notebook, mumbling, "upon being asked for details, the plucky soldier girl reverted to insults. Done. Could be worth fifteen lines, if I stretch it a bit."

He put the notebook away and gave her a sly smile. "Now, what are you here for, really?"

"It's all a bit complicated," said Polly. Hell, yes, she thought. Hot sweet tea and understatement, the true values of Borogravia. "How far is it to the office?"

"Nearly there," said de Worde. "In fact, we just walked past it," he added.

Polly stopped. "Why?"

"Just wanted to know whether you really didn't know where it was," said de Worde. "The job makes you paranoid, I'm afraid."

Polly knew paranoid, so that was all right. "Try being a sergeant once in a while," she said.

"Oh, so you're a sergeant now? How many brothers have you _got_?" asked de Worde as he fished a key out of a pocket of his cloak and opened a fairly insignificant looking door.

The room behind the door looked fairly busy. There were dwarves in the half-gloom. There was a gigantic thing. It was moving. She wasn't interested.

"Otto?" called de Worde. "Otto, are you there? You've got yourself a lady visitor!"

Some of the dwarves appeared to be snickering.

A flap in the floor was lifted. There was a ladder. There was a head. Suddenly, Polly wasn't quite sure anymore what she wanted here, and even less sure how to phrase it, so she settled for, "Er. Hi."

"Do I know you?" said the head. There were no 'z's and 'v's in that phrase, but Otto Chriek still managed to give the opposite impression. Polly felt right at home.

"Otto, tell me when you're ready with those iconographs," said William. "Was nice meeting you again, plucky soldier girl, but I've got to work on that fire report for a bit." With that, he vanished through an open door into another room. There were desks, and stacks of paper covering the desks and the floor and, incidentally, every surface that might have been suitably horizontal, and there were potted plants, and a woman scribbling on square pieces of paper, and rather a lot of half-drunken coffee cups, Polly noticed, before she concentrated back on Otto.

"Polly Perks," said Polly. "Friend of Mal's. Look -"

"Zat's zer one!" said Otto cheerfully, climbing out of the hole in the ground and - Polly tried not to stare here - almost skipping over to her. "I do know you!" he said, shaking her hand enthusiastically. "How's zer old girl?"

Now, 'old girl' was certainly not a phrase Polly would have associated with Mal. Apart from that, there was also the small issue of what she was going the say next, and how to phrase that, and, er.

One part of her, the part that was still five years old and had never seen a bird burn, or a man die, or Maladicta in that white dress, was already on the lookout for a handy corner to go have a cry in, wait for Mummy or Daddy come and scoop her up and tell her the world was only evil on the outside. Bloody hell.

"Can we speak privately?" asked Polly.

Otto shrugged. "Sure," he said. "Come down into zer... crypt." He vanished back into the cellar. Polly hesitated for a bit, because jumping into gloomy holes had, so far, not been part of her daily schedule, and jumping into gloomy holes after being invited into said gloomy holes by a vampire -

- damn, when was she going to get used to this?

Bugger that. Come to think of it, bugger the ladder, too. She landed on her feet.

"Looks like a laboratory to me."

"Where's Mal?" asked a voice directly behind her. Bloody vampire. Polly thought for a while, but there really wasn't a way to stay reasonably un-dramatic.

"I actually think she might be dead," she said.

"Oh," said Otto. He said nothing more.

Polly drew a hand through her hair. "I mean, I could be wrong," she added,"this could have been, I don't know, a hallucination, or something. It felt so real."

"Er," said Otto. "I see you're stressed out, but can you try making a bit more sense?"

"I was inside her head when she died," said Polly. "I just don't know if that was real. Er." Oh, _gods_. "I think I might have to sit down."

Without awaiting an invitation, she sat down on the only chair she saw available. The world, however, failed to turn into a better place.

"Now, I see you're carrying zer infamous Black Ribboner's starter kit," said Otto. "You also look somevat... deshabille. Before I combine all zese clues into a monster of a story zat surely vill make no sense at all, I kindly implore you to tell me vot happened, please?"

"I'm trying to think," said Polly, putting the box absent-mindedly onto Otto's workbench. At least, it looked ilke a workbench. There were things in boxes, moving about, quite possibly the most suspect thing she'd seen...

...all week, really.

Telling the story was easy. She just had to leave out all the nice parts; what was left made her stomach turn a bit, but she'd grown good at ignoring that. That had happened, and that, and _that_, now that was no-one's business but hers.

"There," she said. "What do we do now?"

"Zat's a strange question to ask," said Otto. He thought for a moment. "Vell, ve've known for a vile zere must have been someone in the League who -"

"Lady Draconia," said Polly. "Woman in a white headscarf, plays the harmonium. Badly."

"Her?" said Otto. "Vot a pity. She used to vink at me."

"Do you think Mal is -," began Polly.

"Hard to tell, from vot you've told me," said Otto. "Ve do know ze Anti Temperance League is a bit vimpy about killing, so zer flash of light you saw might be just zeir style."

"Wimpy about killing?" asked Polly. "Have you seen what they use for arrows?"

"Oh, you mean zat?" Covering one hand with the sleeve of his cloak, Otto got something off a shelf. "Zat's just for show," he said absent-mindedly, "I'm sure a simple vooden arrow vizout zer metal bit -"

His eyes widened. It might have had something to do with the very simple wooden stake that was quite suddenly pointing at his heart.

"Yes, somezing like zat," he murmured. "Vould you put zat avay, please?"

"You've got ten seconds to explain to me why the hell I should not get hysterical on your arse," said Polly. "How did you get that arrow?"

"Got shot," said Otto. "Zat's zer usual vay."

"Right," said Polly, and drew a deep breath. She lowered the stake. "Right. I'm sorry."

"No problem," said Otto, shrugging. "Now zat zat's out of the way, did you get the flowerpot or the cravat?"

"Does it matter?" asked Polly wearily, sitting down again.

Otto was already at the workbench, carefully opening the box. "Indeed it does," he said. "I've been vaiting for zis all veek, but for some reason I expected zey vould haf had ze sense to _tell_ you about it. Oh vell."

"I, er," said Polly. "Huh?"

"Isn't zat a nice flowerpot?" said Otto. "Look at zer pattern, it's really very stylish."

"It's an urn," said Polly, and was at this moment quite glad she was sitting already. "It's an urn full of what I expect will be dust, and -"

What the _hell_.

"It's Mal," said Otto. He examined the thing from all sides. "At least, zat's zer idea. Zer polka dots are a bit of a shock."

Polly very much wanted to believe that. Of course, her usual inner spoilsport had to voice its doubts on the matter.

"Er," she said. "Can we be sure? Couldn't that be anyone?"

"Zat's vere zings vould get really absurd," said Otto. "I'm not sure I could take a hilarious mix-up at zis point."

Polly, who had read books of the sort one doesn't admit to having read, knew what he meant. She wasn't sure she could, either.

"Yes," she said. "What do we do now? There was something about bl... er... the b-word, I'msorryi'msorry -"

She actually allowed herself some very careful excitement.

"Any living species, normally," said Otto. "But zere is a problem zat needs addressing -"

Polly intended to count to ten, but stopped at two. "Tell me," she said. "Tell me why it won't work today when it appears to work in every other damn case. I will not tolerate any more dramatic pauses."

"Zere's somezing called tradition," said Otto indignantly. "And vot I was going to say, zank you, is zat it's been too long since she died."

That was something Benedict had said, Polly knew. You never knew who came back...

"We'd need her own bl-bl- oh, bugger it. _Blood_," said Otto. "Or zat of a relative. I'm not ready to handle a monster here. I know she has given a vial to someone, but zer messenger hasn't arrived yet."

"There's been a burglary at the clubhouse," said Polly, flatly. "Oh, _damn_ -"

What a very interesting coincidence.

"All right," said Otto. "Zey von. We lost. Unless you haf a very clever idea, in vhich case, do not hesitate to share."

There was gloom. There wasn't much else, but at least Polly had a moment to breathe (clammy, dusty cellar air, a hint of chemicals, of iron, a hint of something alive), and think.

"I could go and find Benedict and make him bleed," she murmured. The thought was sort of comforting, if a little impractical. Benedict must be in Borogravia right now, and Polly wasn't so sure she could -

- wait that long -

Get things done, she thought. Get things done _now_. What would Jackrum do? Shout a lot? Why, certainly, but -

And then her thoughts left that trail and thought, what would _Blouse_ do? What he'd attempt, at least, would be thinking outside of the box. Unlike him, Polly was good at that, so -

"I think I need a coffee," she said.

"Vere _are_ my manners?" asked Otto, and Polly thought she detected a bit of sarcasm. "I zink Saccharissa has some in her office. How stronk do you like it?"

"As strong as possible," said Polly. "As long as it's still sort of liquid afterwards. I think I need that now."

For a few minutes, she was alone in the cellar, with the flowery urn that wasn't Mal at all. It was really rather girly, she thought. Like Mal in a dress. Over her cold, dead body, Mal had once said.

Nothing to do now but wait, feed her hope one breath at a time, but not too much, only so it wouldn't die. Didn't want some fat ball of hope, now, full of clammy cellar air, sitting idly until it imploded on itself and she was left with an empty shell, a fistful of dust.

The calm was unnerving. She was itching to do something, and still strangely tired. So tired.

"Coffee up," said the voice of Otto from above, in an honest attempt at cheerful.

As he was climbing down the stairs, carefully balancing a cup of coffee, she took the urn and poured its contents onto the workbench. It wasn't as if there was a lot of dust, really. Polly was trying not to breathe, waiting for that little cloud to settle -

"Vot do you zink you're doing?" asked Otto sharply.

Polly shrugged. "Bit of experimental resurrection," she said. "Try not to sneeze?"

"Vell, I agree about ze 'mental'!" said Otto. "I told you it vos dangerous."

"The worst thing that can happen is that nothing happens at all," said Polly. "And have you ever seen Mal with a cup of coffee?"

Three cheers for awkward pauses, thought Polly. Hooray! Hooray!

Hoo -

"... Yes," said Otto.

"Mal can have an intimate relationship with a coffee cup that puts other people's sex life to shame," said Polly, and felt like she should be blushing. That was okay, though, Otto looked a bit uncomfortable himself. "Er, you know," she added. "If that doesn't bring her back - oh, bugger that. I don't think I'm obliged to convince you first, actually."

She grabbed the coffee cup from Otto's hands and dripped a spoonful of coffee, with extra grounds, over the dust, feeling rather determined (and, admittedly, very very silly) as she did that.

Polly turned around and began counting under her breath, mainly to keep the sounds out. Behind her, she thought, she _hoped_ she heard dust drifting, moving, building up...

five -

six -

seven -

_seven_, damn it -

"Took you long enough," said a voice.

Polly spun around, the same moment that Otto turned his face to the wall. She could see why.

Mal was crouching on the workbench, twisting a strand of hair between her fingers, a puzzled expression on her face. It was quite possibly due to the sheer length of said strand of hair.

_Maladicta_, Polly thought, and swallowed. Almost on its own accord, her hand closed around the stake, and she hated herself for it.

"Damn," murmured Mal/Maladicta, "it always goes back to default."

"Er," said Polly. "Anything else gone back to default? Mal?"

Mal/Maladicta lifted her head to look at her, and she took her time.

"You may have noticed that at this moment in time I am not a ravening monster," said Mal/Maladicta. She raised her wrist to her face. She sniffed, and grinned, and sniffed again.

"Coffee, Polly?" she asked, more amused than anything.

Polly nodded. "Coffee," she replied.

"That _worked_?"

"You may have noticed that at this moment in time you are not a pile of dust," said Polly.

Mal/Maladicta looked down on herself. "So it seems," she said. "Pray tell, have you got any _left?_"

"Yes," said Polly. "However, and I don't mean to be all last century here, er, but I must question your priorities." Inwardly, she grinned. This had to be Mal.

"I am, for all points and purposes, a female vampire," said Mal. "I'm not _supposed_ to have any shame." She caught Polly's expression, and added, grinning, "All right, all _right_. Gimme clothes first so Otto can turn around again."

"Er," said Polly, just now thinking of that aspect of the problem. "I didn't really plan for -"

Wordlessly, Otto took off his black cloak and gave it to Mal, without looking at her. Mal needed only one blurred movement to slide off the bench and put the cloak on.

Well, thought Polly. This is Mal. Of course she looks good in that. Even if it has a lot of pockets. Even if she stands really damn close -

"Coffee, Polly," Mal purred into her ears.

Polly handed her the cup, and Mal drank, and as always, it was a show just watching her.

"It might be a bit on the strong side," said Polly carefully.

"Yep," said Mal. "Gimme the spoon?"

_You crazy, crazy woman_, thought Polly, watching Mal spooning up the coffee grounds. She really did take dying hard, didn't she?

Mal handed her back the cup and spoon. "Good coffee," she said. "How much did you put in?"

"All zere vas," said Otto, who had finally dared turning around. "Remind me to avoid Saccharissa in zer near future. I zink she might be a bit livid."

"Huh," said Mal. "That doesn't mean there isn't any more coffee, does it? Does it?"

"You _ate it all_, Mal," said Otto, while Polly's tired brain still tried to wrap itself around the double negative. "Zat was about two and a half pages worth of caffeine, too."

"Oh," said Mal in a very small voice and sat down on the work bench. "Then we're not going to stay long, I don't think. Unless you've got cigarettes and no, I am quite well, thank you, and - oh. _Oh._ My head. My... _everything_, really. Don't look at me like that."

She wrapped the cloak tighter around herself, not looking at either Polly or Otto.

"You do make a sort of maybe a little tired impression," said Polly finally.

"If this is a conspiratorial meeting," said Mal, "then conspire away, if you please." She sighed at the resulting silence. "Or don't. How long was I gone?"

"Five days?" said Polly. "Or six, I don't know, actually."

"Six," said Otto and nodded to Polly, that treacherous... "Her idea, really."

"Six," said Mal. "I - oh. Oh. Polly, that was very thoughtless of you. I... six days, oh dear sweet Nuggan is that even possible? Legal? Ethical?"

"Yes," said Polly. "And amazingly enough, you didn't come back a monster. Just a bit naked maybe."

"Never mind that," said Mal. "Bit hard to concentrate on a pair of trousers for six days straight _and did I mention this is insane_? Speaking of which, Otto, did you get our things from the, ah, inn, or have they been eaten by the bugs already?"

She caught the key that was thrown at her with remarkable speed, considering her general state of... her general state of everything.

"I vent and got zer pack and also I zink some kind of allergy," said Otto. "The key is to my cousin Rudi's flat, he's avay for zer week and alvays happy to help out a fellow ribboner. That is, I'm sure he vould be. Er. If he knew, that is."

"I see," said Mal. "You know Otto, you... really are a dear. Considering, er. Thanks."

"Considering what, exactly?" asked Polly.

The two vampires looked at her. Both appeared to be blushing without actually doing so.

"Just considering, really," said Mal after too long a moment during which absolutely no-one had been swallowed into a merciful hole in the ground.

"I... see?" offered Polly, finally.

"Good," said Mal. "_Jolly_ good." She wriggled her bare toes, watching them intently. "Otto, I think I'm going to drop in some time this week," she added. "To compare notes and stuff on Uberwald, plan the revolution kind of thing. You know."

There was a weary sigh. Vampires were _good_ at drama.

"Miss Perks," said Otto. "Can you please try and get zer Uberwald zing out of her head?"

Mal shrugged. "It might be a good story," she said.

"No, Mal," said Otto. "See, I'm Otto. Mr. Nice Iconographer Guy, not hard to remember, really, Mr. Nice Story Fanatic Guy, zat's _Villiam_. Only one of us has taste in clothes. Zat's how you can tell us apart."

"Speaking of which," said Mal somewhat absent-mindedly, "I must talk to de Worde tomorrow, or soon, at least; I've got a whole list of names just waiting to be dragged into the dirt."

"Anyone I know?" asked Otto.

Mal hesitated for a moment. "It's a lot of people," she said, finally. "No real surprises. At least, no real surprises if you don't cling to false hopes and undue optimism and have crazy ideas about family values. As it were." She dragged a hand through her hair, and once again startled at the length. "Polly, we're leaving."

"I'll show you ze way," said Otto. "You von't find zer flat vizout me, anyvay."

"You're one of the nice guys, Otto, and that's very nice of you," said Mal, and Polly only just now realised how really very tired her voice sounded. "Polly, can you maybe give us a moment?"

"I," said Polly. "Yeah, sure." A shrug, and she climbed up the ladder, mentally contemplating the fact that she was just leaving two vampires who already were more awkward around each other than could possibly be legal together in a cramped dark place, and -

- oh gods -

Going by experience, she wasn't quite sure if either of them would survive.

By the time she'd closed the trapdoor after herself, Polly had concluded that respecting other people's private life did not necessarily stretch as far as to not accidentally overhear things, as such. Faint voices from below -

- so at least they were still talking -

"How did that woman get the iconograph?" Mal's voice, through the buzzing of the press.

"Zere's more zan one iconographer in zis town," said Otto, stiffly. "I recommend you get over zis distrust. It takes zer fun out of zer revolution."

Mal, softly. "I needed to know. Have a hard time trusting anybody these days, really."

"Ha." Laughter, almost. "You've got unresolved issues viz your muzzer. It's a classic."

"You make it sound so harmless," said Mal.

"Yes, I know she sent murderers to kill you," said Otto. "Counts as unresolved issues, since you're not dead - just trying to cheer you up. Sorry."

There was silence. And more silence. And - "You know that isn't true," spoken so softly that Polly had a hard time listening to it, and anyway, she was wondering whether to just wait outside, because this was turning difficult again.

"How do you know?"

"Because it's worse than that," said Mal. "Because she planned it all. Dance, puppet, dance."

There was a pause.

"I am somevhat surprised," said Otto, finally. "How did you arrive at zat particular conclusion?"

Polly imagined how Mal would shrug now. She knew her too well, sometimes. "It's amazing how abstract your thought processes go when you're dead," said Mal. "I bet someone'll soon be passing the story to the _Times_: Reformed Vampire on Killing Spree. Something like that. Got a cigarette?"

"The cellar might explode," said Otto.

A pause, and then he added, rather apologetically, "Zey already did."

"Zey - they - what?"

"Sent the story," said Otto. Pause. "viz shocking detail regarding zer fate of certain small fluffy animals, too."

Another pause. "Did you print it?"

"No," said Otto, "ve didn't."

"Good," said Mal, and Polly could hear her starting to climb the ladder.

"The _Inquirer_ did," said Otto. "But zat's okay, really," he added hastily, "because no-one's really going to take zat serious." Mal had stopped dead. "At least, no-one you like. Probably."

"Oh, _jolly_ good," said Mal, and opened the flap in the ground. "There's lots of people I don't like, though."

She looked up at Polly and smiled faintly, giving Polly the impression that she knew quite well they had been listened to. "Bed, Polly?" she suggested.

Polly raised an eyebrow. "Bed?" she said, and even though there was a convenient hole in the ground now, no-one was swallowed, which says a lot about people's wishful thinking regarding holes in the ground.

Mal blinked, anyway. Something might have flown over her head. "Rafter," she said. "I totally meant rafter. Didn't I say that?"

"Something to sleep in, anyway," said Polly, extending her hand to help Mal out of the cellar. "Or on. Or off. You know."

"Sleep," agreed Mal, apparently lost in deep thought. "Or coffee? Or sleep. Huh."

Once outside, she blinked at the sunlight, but failed to turn into a pile of dust, Polly noticed with relief. They'd been wandering Ankh-Morpork for a minute or so, when Mal came to a conclusion.

"Coffee first," she said. "Then sleep."

-

It was a long while later - a very long while later, considering that the sun had set hours ago - when Polly found herself lying in a strange bed. It was a Black Ribboner's bed, which meant it was probably just for show - or sex, but Polly's mind did not wander there at all, and certainly not in great detail. Either way, she wasn't asleep. She was listening, and growing more worried by the minute.

A restless vampire on a rafter was a strange thing to experience. How the hell did Mal not fall off?

Silently, Polly got out of the bed to tiptoe across the room, to the window, carefully avoiding creaking floorboards or any strangely placed furniture on her way. She contemplated for a while whether or not to open the window, then decided against it since the air outside was probably even stuffier then in here.

Polly turned around to face the room. The moon didn't shine particularly bright, but she could make out Mal as a mere slim shadow against the greyed white of the wall beyond. She listened to her breathing for a moment.

"You're not actually fooling anyone," said Polly, finally.

There was a pause that made Polly wonder whether Mal had told the truth; that she was fine and didn't need to talk about things, and really, that she was just a little tired and needed to sleep.

But she had seen people who had come back from the enemy's prisons (from the Borogravian prisons, too), had seen some of them flinching every time a door opened, so silent, never speaking of the horrors behind the walls. Polly felt a pinch of (familiar / unfamiliar) dread at the thought of Mal going into hiding like that; she wasn't quite sure how to bear this all on her own.

Polly moved from her lounging point by the window, circled Mal to look into her face. Mal's eyes were open; no surprise there.

"I'm not trying to fool -," began Mal, softly.

"I was in your head, Mal," said Polly.

The eyes closed for a moment. Inwardly, Polly cursed. She really was hopeless at this sensitivity thing, wasn't she?

"I am fine," again, very pronounced.

"Mal, if you need to -" _be held, or something, I'm right here_.

Now, that was something one didn't say to a vampire. Which was a shame, really, because Polly was already unsure of what to do, or say; she didn't need her alternatives reduced like that.

Polly hesitated, was this maybe the point to get a little manipulative?

Of course it was. "Mal, I'm freezing," she said. Okay, that was a bit of a lie. It was almost pleasantly warm in here. "Look how I am shivering. Because of the cold. Come over? Please?"

"Oh, all _right_," said Mal. Polly imagined she heard something like relief in there. Mal's usually impeccable somersault, when she got off the rafter, looked almost sloppy. Polly saw her wrists, unmarred yet again (and she remembered; silver, light, dust), and she thought she understood.

Mal had landed on her feet, swaying a little. Polly extended an arm to hold her steady.

"Whoops," said Mal, "almost fell over there, didn't you? Good thing you've got me."

It might have been the tiredness that made Polly say, "Good thing I've got you", without even blushing afterwards, but she did lead Mal over to the bed, where Mal collapsed - in a very dignified way, but still -, subsequently taking up most of the blanket, but that was only to be expected, and in any case, it wasn't that cold.

Polly lay down beside her, idly wondering, yet again, if she was the only one being plagued by memories, if Mal could just shrug this off as a momentary drawback. Polly didn't sleep, and she was quite sure Mal didn't, either.

It took a long, long time - Polly could have sworn that the moon had already set, that the only light now came from the street lanterns outside - until Mal stirred again, turning over to face her, only not really, because she was avoiding Polly's eyes, and -

"Polly?" Her voice was very faint.

"Hm?"

"Would you -", a pause, "would you mind if I - cling a little? Just for a moment?"

Did Mal sound scared? Polly noticed that Mal looked perfectly composed, but that had never meant much.

"Cling away, Mal," she said, taking Mal's hand in the dark. "I'm here."


	15. Icing Onna Cake

**Note: **Pratchett's. This is the last chapter. Which means there will be no more chapters after this one :D I hope you enjoyed reading this story; I certainly had fun writing it.

One reviewer raised the question whether Mal and Otto had something going on, and the answer is, well yeah, they _had_, back when Mal disappeared for six months. It all ended in ear-burning embarrassment, only handled with bags and bags of style.

**-**

**Plogviehze, Baby, Chapter 14. Over and Out.  
**

**-  
**

A few days later, a bathtub happened. There was a Polly in it, and the Polly was delighted. Washbowls and watering cans just didn't cut it, really. She loved bathtubs, she'd never _really_ denied that.

It also was a very nice distraction. Deep thinking just didn't happen in bathtubs; at least, it didn't happen to Polly.

Polly dunked her head under water after drawing a deep breath. She did realise this was probably pointless, but she was determined to keep the human thing up and running, else it'd be turning into bats and glowing red eyes next. She couldn't be having with that.

"Polly?" called a voice. Mal's.

Polly came up, and of course she got soap in her eyes, and it burned. She liked that. Not the burning as such, but the fact that the soap burned in her eyes. It was a piece of reality. She'd been missing out on that, lately.

"Here," she said, without thinking.

The door opened. A slim, black-clad figure, framed in the reddening sunlight, was standing in the doorway, and for a moment, Polly wasn't quite sure whether to be embarrassed or - seeing as how she had to face certain issues at some point - excited.

Still. "Um," she said.

"I'm back," said Mal. "Also, whoops. I'll be in the other room."

Mal had been in and out of the flat for days now, showcasing varying degrees of worriedness and generally appearing a little stressed out. Polly supposed she was meeting people, or getting orders (or maybe ordering people around; it just seemed natural, for Mal), or organising, or something, but she also got the distinct impression that Mal wasn't happy with how things were turning out.

Strange. One would have thought that a city that offered thirty-seven different kinds of coffee (with almost free refills) would have agreed with Mal more.

It took all of Polly's willpower to not actually fall asleep here and now, so she decided it was high time to get out the bathtub. Dripping a satisfying amount of water all over the tiled floor, she grabbed a towel off the rack, which, after a half-hearted attempt at drying herself off, she wrapped around her head. She then proceeded to climb into a nice, fresh pair of trousers. Buttoning up a newly acquired and slightly too big, too frilly shirt, she left the bathroom to itself and went to find Mal.

Chance predicted that anyone standing by a window staring wistfully into a sunset would look a little silly, but Mal didn't. Polly wondered if she did that on purpose, and if so, whether one should compliment her on her impeccable use of dramatic effect.

It must be a vampire thing.

With her hair done up like that, though, and her current air of unapproachableness, she did remind Polly a little of Lady Ingrid, and that alone was ground for action. Still dripping a little, Polly sauntered over, positioning herself behind Mal. They weren't touching, but they might as well have been.

"That hairdo makes you look at least ten years older," she murmured.

Mal snorted, but only slightly. Polly began pulling out hairpins, one at a time. Strand after strand fell, until one pin finally dislodged the rest, and there was rather a lot of rest. She even had to step back a little. Mal still didn't move or protest as Polly began feeling through the hair with her fingers to make sure she hadn't missed a pin.

It really was quite nice hair, she thought.

"Better," she said, and let go, which was the exact moment the sheer cheek of it caught up with her. After all this time, she still didn't have a clear idea of how much of what was allowed or even expected. Still, she thought. Nice hair. Very nice. Um.

"If you say so," said Mal, not turning around. It wasn't even as if the sunset was that spectacular, thought Polly.

"Have you spoken to the landlord?" she asked.

"Yes," said Mal. There was something vaguely disconcerting about the way she didn't acknowledge, well, anything. "The post carriage to Zlobenia leaves once a month. I'm afraid there's none that goes further, so -"

"That's okay, I can manage," said Polly, thinking _great! A camping trip in the Ramtops!_ "When does the next coach leave?"

There was the slightest hint of a dramatic pause, but maybe Mal didn't mean it.

"Tomorrow," she said.

A sudden sharp pain in her palm reminded Polly that she was still holding the hairpins she'd collected. "Okay," she said. "Fine. This is rather shorter than I'd hoped, but still, got to get home some day, right?"

"Speaking of which," said Mal, "there's something I've been meaning to tell you."

The coffee engine, Polly noticed, was gurgling again. She'd miss that, she realised, the sounds and scent of coffee and all the things that were Mal without actually being Mal. She could have managed with two weeks' notice, she supposed, maybe even one, but a single day was pushing it a little.

"You sure you aren't coming with me?" she asked softly.

"Define 'sure'," said Mal. "You know, it's because -"

Polly didn't know, and didn't want to ask, because she figured some thoughts needed longer to be formulated. She stepped next to Mal and let the hairpins trickle onto the windowsill, one by one; they made the faintest of sounds.

"Well," said Mal, "quite apart from the whole having been on their death list business, er -"

"Having been?" asked Polly

"Ha," said Mal. "I'm dead, remember?"

"Er," said Polly. "Not as such. And actually that's a pretty good reason not to go to Uberwald, 'cause they might find out you aren't, and kill you again, and then I will mock you. Promise."

"It's called going incognito, dear child," said Mal. "Meet Lord Atcidalam. From Klatch." Upon seeing the expression on Polly's face, she added, "It's just a working title. And the hairstyle is really very temporary."

"Okay," said Polly. "I see you planned this very thoroughly."

There was an unspoken question behind that sentence, and Polly could see that Mal understood. It might have been Mal's uncomfortable silence that had tipped her off.

"I didn't plan on dying," said Mal, finally. "Not originally. But -"

"But?" asked Polly. "I - you scared me a little." _And the understatement of the year award goes to Polly Perks of Munz, Borogravia. Have a potted plant_. "I'm not used to people having amazing resurrective powers."

"It was a bit improvised, I admit," said Mal. "The original idea was to get me out before they killed me. But since they were so _insistent_, we decided to work with that instead."

"Who's we, Mal?"

There was a noncommittal smile.

"Okay, Mal," said Polly. "You're daft. Anyway, apart from the having been on their death list business is how you started your reasoning, so - ?"

"I don't know," said Mal. "It's all so... diffuse now." She cracked a smile. "I guess I'm really daft. I want to have the cake, I want to eat it, and I want to give it away, too."

She went over to where the coffee engine had stopped gurgling and started spitting. She was watching it, Polly noticed, the way she was only ever watching coffee and never anything else. A lost cause, this one. Polly settled for the next best thing, which was going over to the bathroom and collect her socks, on account of having cold feet, and towelling her hair not dry, but drier, and throwing the towel into the laundry bin. And then a feeling in her stomach was telling her that matters, as usual, were entirely unsatisfying.

She couldn't just leave the next day without having resolved anything, she realised. Someone here had to make things happen, and somehow she didn't think Mal was up to the task.

Mal was back at the window, drinking coffee from her tiny espresso cup and looking at a sky that was now rather more indigo than before. Ankh-Morpork might have been a little stinky, Polly thought, but she had to admit it did have pretty sunsets. Must be all the smog.

Mal looked so tired.

Polly stepped behind her, and, carefully as to not disturb her coffee-drinking, placed both hands lightly on her shoulders. A slight turn in Mal's head, towards her, was the only response she got.

"Are you quite all right?" asked Polly. "It's only you seem so -"

"I'm getting better, Polly," said Mal.

So maybe that was the truth. It didn't explain the way Mal wasn't looking at her, though, and the way Mal's hair was in her face without her even bothering to fix it.

"Why don't you just come home?" asked Polly, softly. "Just for a while?"

There was silence, and Polly's hand moved over Mal's shoulders, ever so lightly, awaiting an answer. The sun was still not done setting.

"I don't have a home, Polly," said Mal, finally, when the town outside had become more shadows than anything else.

"Share mine?" asked Polly, suddenly feeling a faint twinge of nervousness. "For a while?"

She stroked Mal's hair again, and, while she was at it, she slid her hands down Mal's arms, to distract herself from potential answers, and she could have sworn she felt a slight shiver under her hands, which maybe, maybe meant something.

"She's still with me, you know," said Mal softly. "And damn, does that hair ever get on my nerves." With that, she untangled herself slightly, slightly, and lifted her hands to her hair, braiding it with quick fingers.

"Who?"

"Maladicta," said Mal. "She's still here, somewhere, and she's haughty and demanding and a general nuisance and I thought you should know. Got a ribbon?"

Polly used her teeth to rip off a length of lace from her impossibly decorated shirt sleeve and handed it to Mal, "You once told me you were, and I quote, actually Maladicta."

"And you told me I was just me," said Mal, knotting the lace around the braid. "I pride myself on being open to new ideas once in a while, you know?" She sort of collapsed against Polly, who was still standing behind her, and Polly caught her, putting her arms around Mal once more.

"You got me thinking that maybe I could get rid of the person if I got rid of the name," added Mal, taking up the coffee cup again and holding on to it for dear life. "I can't."

"Er," said Polly. She'd always been Polly beneath the 'Oliver', and she suspected she'd been Polly beneath the batshit crazy vampire, too, and now she was Polly all over again and liked it. Identity issues happened to other people, and now that she thought about it, this seemed to be exactly what was the problem here.

"What I'm really trying to say here, Polly," said Mal, "is that I'm not generally nice. Ha, I'm not generally _sane_. I'm still the same person who went to thank her father after he did what he did. I'm still the same person who bit you because she was too self-centered to let go. I'm _questionable_ company, Polly."

Polly wasn't going to touch the thanking part of that sentence with a ten foot pole, but she furrowed a brow at the biting. "You're regretting that?" she asked. "After I finally managed to get over, you know, wanting to kill you for that one?"

"The new and improved Mal would have let you die," said Mal. "And incidentally, that's the person I was aspiring to be, and I've come to realise that I'm still confused as hell about it all, 'cause I _like_ you being alive."

"Yeah, thanks," said Polly. "It's happened, and I think I might like the outcome better than the alternative, so let's not go into motives. How well can you differentiate that, anyway?"

There was a pause.

"Huh?"

"Er," said Polly. "Most people are only one person. How well can you tell when it's Mal doing the steering, and when it's Maladicta, and when it might be Maladict?"

"I think about it and tell myself that was a very Maladicta thing to do," said Mal. "I'm not actually three people."

"Ah," said Polly. "Good. Less confusion that way. Who does the thinking?"

"Er," said Mal. "I _said_ I wasn't - "

"How do you know, then?"

"I don't," said Mal. "It's all a bit of sophisticated guesswork."

"It breaks my brain," said Polly. "Who did the kissing?"

"Er," said Mal.

This might have been a typical Polly faux pas, thought Polly. Might be a good moment to let go now and just forget about it all, but letting go now would probably mean letting Mal crash to the floor. She'd really never seen her as tired as this.

"You don't have to -," began Polly.

"All of me," said Mal softly. "Except for that little part that keeps nagging that I'm bloody stupid for even thinking about... things. Kissing. It's frequently outvoted, though. You may have noticed."

"Yes," said Polly. "You've got a very democratic personality."

So everyone had that little spoilsport inside, she thought. Maybe they could go from there, and -

"Democratic means everyone gets a vote," said Mal. "Do you really want that?"

"That's not for me to decide, I think," said Polly. Mal stirred, slightly, one hand trailing over the length of Polly's forearm.

"No," she said. "It isn't. You're very nice and empathic, have I told you that?"

She finally drained the coffee cup and placed it carefully on the windowsill, as if readying herself to fight, or to flee. Polly noticed it with half delight and half naked terror.

"We've still got to talk," said Polly, "about things. You know. I can't leave that just hanging about."

"Polly," began Mal, "I don't want to spoil the moment, but I feel someone's got to point out -,"

"If this isn't the time," said Polly, "then -"

She brushed against the side of Mal's face, dropped a light kiss on her cheek, then hesitated. She was a bit unsure of herself, here.

Mal turned slightly to look up at her, lips twisted into a very strange smile. "Great," she said. "The cake of heartbreak really needed some goddamn icing. Thank you so very much."

"The cake of heartbreak," Polly felt she had to point out, "is already hard to swallow and besides, I've always liked the icing best." She took one of Mal's hands into her own, and added a slightly defeated, "Oh." The ghost of a blush.

"... I agree that was a dreadful metaphor," said Mal. There was a hint of a smile.

"Yes," said Polly. "Yes, it was."

"It's a really awful idea, is what I meant," said Mal. She was still holding Polly's hand, raising it to her lips, kissing Polly's fingertips, and Polly thought, _if that's the icing, I'll gladly take the cake._

Then she thought, rather more randomly, _that was two cake metaphors in the space of five minutes. Is Mal hungry or something?_

"Bit like cutting off your hair and joining the army?" she asked.

And that was exactly how Polly felt, anyway. Those few hours between cutting off her hair and enlisting, not being able to go back, not sure where it would all end, but excited all the same. And, to be fair, bloody terrified. Well.

"Bit like that, yeah," said Mal. She let go of Polly's hand and finally turned around to face her. She raised one hand to tousle Polly's hair, and when she did that, Polly had the feeling that this was maybe a step into the right direction.

"Bloody awful idea, then," whispered Polly, and was silenced by a finger on her lips. Mal looked away again, trailing her fingers through Polly's hair, the ghost of a nervous smile on her face, as though she wanted to say something but couldn't work out what order the words went in.

Er, thought Polly. _Come on, Polly, other people have managed this before_. She gave herself a mental nudge and her arms slipped around Mal, pulling her just that little bit closer, but lightly, lightly. Someone had to _do_ these things.

"Something you wanted to say?" she asked.

"Not really," said Mal, and then she leaned into this and kissed Polly.

If there was one word to describe that, Polly thought weakly, it was probably 'tired'. Even after putting both of her arms around Polly's neck, Mal was clearly having some slight balance issues, or would be having them if she hadn't, well, had her arms around Polly, and -

The kiss was tired, yes. A little sloppy, maybe, and all kinds of breathtaking. Tired Mal didn't watch herself all the time; she leaned in and let things happen and Polly felt she was opening up, like a window, or wait, she didn't have good experience with windows. Like a door, then. Her heart fluttered in the wind.

It made her sway a little, and Mal shifted, and broke the kiss, and said, "Ha!"

"Don't say a word," said Polly. "Please? Just for a moment?"

Mal complied, holding Polly tight for a while. Polly realised she'd missed this for months; being held without all the distrust, without the need to hurt, without the occasional lack of need to hurt and hurting anyway. It had gone so badly the first time. She wondered if it might go better now.

"Polly," said Mal, "I really, really ought to tell you something."

Polly breathed in, scent of skin, and snow, and ever-present coffee. "Come with me to Borogravia?" she said.

"Polly," said Mal, taking Polly's hands into her own, "there is no Borogravia."

Polly didn't exactly want to let go, and so she didn't, but the sudden cognitive distance alone came as a bit of a shock. "Explain," she said.

"The battle we lost was the last," said Mal. "They've divided the country. Belongs to everyone else now. The command's been arrested."

Still not letting go. "How long have you known?" asked Polly. She felt a little colder. Not unusual. After all, it was still winter.

"I should have told you," said Mal, which probably translated to 'Quite a while', Polly thought. She felt Mal burying her head into her shoulder, thought she'd heard something like, _forgive me?_

She could have asked why Mal hadn't told her about that, but what did it matter when her home lay in pieces? They said Borogravia couldn't eat its national pride, but could it swallow it?

"Do you think this could be peace?" she asked.

Polly imagined her neighbors, the farmers and merchants of Munz, how they'd react to having their children in prison, instead of snowed-in army camps (but did they know about these? Did anyone know? ), paying taxes to former enemies, and yet, having the chance to see a summer go by in peace and collecting the harvest, for once. Could there be hope?

"There's a treaty," said Mal. "It's well-meant. There's worse things than well-meant."

"I guess," said Polly, and then said nothing for a while, watching flickering lights outside. "I'm still going home, you know?" she said. "Somebody will have to -," look after them? Tell them what to do? "Organise things," she finished. "You know."

"Yes," said Mal.

Polly breathed in, a smile, a careful sort of hope. A kiss to Mal's neck, softly, just lips, because she wouldn't be going _there_ ever again, and Mal's hands trailed down her back, over to her sides, her hands. Polly took her by her wrists, drawing her thumbs over faint pulse, thought, and froze.

No struggle, no wince, but Mal stepped back, keeping her hands, her wrists to herself, almost protectively. Polly looked at them; they were reasonably unscarred, not like she remembered, and she wondered whether Mal would ever feel safe again.

"This hasn't happened, Polly," she said.

Polly looked down. "I'm sorry," she said. "Didn't want to remind -"

"I said it hasn't happened," said Mal. "Not a mark, see?"

"No," said Polly, carefully holding up her hands. An apology, more or less. "Hasn't happened."

She wasn't going to understand Mal, ever. Not in this life, as long as it might be, considering recent developments.

"Reminds me, though -," said Mal, and quite suddenly slipped past Polly, vanishing into the other room.

Polly turned around, not really daring to follow, but she wanted to. She waited for a minute, listening to the sound of rustling, before she finally dared making her way over.

She found Mal kneeling next to her pack, holding a long slim object wrapped in cloth, and for one short moment, Polly's heart seemed to stand still.

"I really thought we were over the killing each other," she said.

"I'm just trying to prove a point," said Mal, and unwrapped the arrow. There was an absence of gleam. Before Polly could say something, Mal'd closed her hand around the silver, eyes screwed shut, breath held.

"You're daft. Mal!" said Polly. "Let go of - "

"Look," whispered Mal, opening her fist again. In the faint moonlight, Polly could only see unmarred skin on her palm. Maybe, maybe the faintest hint of a reddish tinge, but she wasn't going to destroy the spirit of the moment.

"Look at this," said Mal. She grinned, reminding Polly a bit of the very tiny vampire twins at the ball, only Mal had all her teeth, and they were gleaming. "I guess this expositional therapy really works, then."

She got up, wrapped the cloth around the arrow once more. "I'm not afraid anymore," she said, a statement of fact.

"No?" asked Polly.

"Not much, anyway," said Mal. "I might try doing heights next. Or lemons. Or you." Her enthusiasm was almost worrying.

"Er," said Polly. She looked down on Mal's face, and could feel her face soften. "Sometimes," she said, "I really really wish you could blush."

Mal laughed, that deranged bar chanteuse laugh that Polly had grown so used to.

"You could teach me," she said. "I mean, it can't be hard if humans can do it, and you're really, really good at blushing, and -"

"Can I ask you something?" asked Polly. "It has practical relevance, even. Unlike blushing, or wearing all the occult jewellery you want."

"Ask away," said Mal.

"It's quite possibly a very dumb question," said Polly.

"In which case you'll get a very dumb answer, and life will go on," said Mal. "C'mon."

"So, does this transference business work automatically, or do I have to do something?" said Polly. "'cause frankly, I don't feel like I'm lusting after anything. Er. Much. Oh dear."

Where _were_ those holes in the ground when you needed them?

"Nah," said Mal. "I recommend you take up a hobby. Something you want to get really, really good at. Like juggling? You could go join a circus."

Polly frowned. "What is this, career counselling?"

"Well, your employers are, you know, sort of behind bars," said Mal, only slightly apologetically. "You could be the Amazing Pollyanna. Looks good in trousers, can juggle, has shiny teeth. Why not?"

Well, the idea _had_ a certain -

Shutupshutupshutup.

"I think," said Polly, and thought, "I think I just want to be Polly for a while. Boring, I know."

Dancing dust in moonlight, a stretch of silence.

"You're going to be very, very good at being Polly, then," said Mal, slowly. A sly grin. "I don't know if I should be afraid for our lovely home zone or excited."

"Go with excited," said Polly. "Stroke my ego, it likes that."

"I guess," said Mal. "As long as you're not trying to mother _me_ -"

Polly raised an eyebrow at her. She really, really loved this height difference. "Sometimes," she said, "I think you haven't been mothered enough in your life." It was only half a joke.

Mal cocked her head to one side, grinned the nastiest grin Polly had ever seen on any living person, ever, paused for dramatic effect, and said, "Kiss me, Mum."

"I -"

Polly couldn't help it. She burst out laughing. It was that or being horrified beyond what she thought she was capable of. Mums burned birds, or had people shot (but not all of the time, never all of the time, which is why these kinds of jokes weren't funny at all, but -)

Mal watched this with amused silence. "So?" she said.

"Don't ever say that again," said Polly, slowy slipping her arms around Mal again, "it really isn't very funny. It is my duty to tell you that, seeing as you don't seem to possess any shame at all."

"_Vampire_," pointed Mal out, pulling her closer. "I think that a lot of things are really very funny if you think about them good and hard," and kissed Polly again, softly this time, fully concentrated, which was more than Polly had thought her capable of. Polly leaned into this, noticing how she could see in this darkness, feeling that she, too, wasn't afraid anymore. It was spring, and neither of them was dead.

She stopped at some point, had to, not for air; just because of a spiritual need for a pause. To think, or to not think at all. She lay her head on Mal's shoulder.

This wasn't a fairy tale ending on a silver platter, she realised, only a second chance, which was all anyone ever got. She could still fuck things up like she had last time, just by opening her mouth to reassure herself and Mal that, really, this couldn't mean anything, not a few months ago, when Polly could have died any given day, from cold or other people's swords, nor now, when they were just a day away from being separated again.

Part of her was still tempted to do just that.

"Hey, Polly -"

Polly lifted her head, slightly. "Yeah?"

Mal seemed intent to not let her fuck things up, this time. "Want to go out grab a bite?" she asked, with a slight grin. "I'm sorta hungry." Maybe she knew exactly what Polly was thinking.

Fighting the impulse to shoot Mal for aggravating use of puns, she said, "Suggest something."

"The place next door has nice vegetarian curry," said Mal. Her expression was positively playful when she added, "but I think they also serve rats. Wanna come along?"

Polly let go of her. "I hate you," she said, realising too late that she'd probably blasted that flimsy second chance into a million pieces. "Er -," she added.

"That's okay," said Mal. "I hate you, too, dear." She took Polly's hand again, dragged her towards the door, into a night that was, for once, actually warm, even inviting. Spring, after all.

"You know," Mal said, off-handedly, as if Polly wasn't noticing the sidewards glance, that mere hint of nervousness, "if you think about it, Munz is really sort of on my way."

Polly sorted out a few possible answers and finally decided to go with simplicity. "Good," she said.

And it was, thought Polly. This was probably as good as it could get.


End file.
